


Interruptions

by wakeupkid



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 89,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakeupkid/pseuds/wakeupkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine have been together for nineteen years. Kurt's a high powered fashion designer and Blaine is a successful composer/song writer. They share a home in New York with their two beautiful children. Then, Kurt's doubts threaten to ruin their perfect lives. Again. Is it over, or will it just be another interruption?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unsure

**Saturday, March 22, 2031**

 

Blaine dropped the keys onto the hutch in the foyer, careful not to stir the sleeping child in his arms. Tori had passed out in his lap on the train back from Manhattan and he had not had the heart to leave her in the backseat where she would no doubt end up slumped against Bertie’s cold, plastic car seat. Plus, she always liked riding up front with Daddy. They had ridden in silence, Tori dead asleep on her daddy’s shoulder, her mouth open in a perfect O, drooling a bit on his Burberry scarf, her dark curls mingling with her father’s.

“You spoil her,” Kurt whispered, crossing the threshold of their South Strathmore Tudor, pushing the grand front door shut with his hip, his own arms filled with a bundle named Bertie. “She has to be getting heavy.”

“Labor of love,” Blaine said, his voice low. “And I do not spoil her,” Blaine began as he toed off his signature loafers from the Legend Collection – the newest in the Hummel line. “To say so would imply that she is spoiled, when in fact, she is perfect.”

Kurt rolled his eyes in response but a slight smile played at his lips. “Let’s get these two to bed,” he said, shifting the dozing toddler in his arms.  Blaine began sliding his bare feet across the marble in a strange sort of shuffle toward the staircase.  “You’re ridiculous,” Kurt scoffed, his vintage Alexander McQueen’s clicking lightly as he walked.

“Well, excuse me for not wanted to slip, fall and seriously injure our perfect daughter.”

“You could just keep your shoes on, Blaine.”

“And risk scuffing them? No,” Blaine responded, carefully maneuvering up the rounded staircase. “I can’t believe you’re still in yours.”

“One does not simply toe off Alexander McQueens.”

“Well, my shoes are better than yours, so…”

“True. But, alas, I cannot wear my own designs to my own event. It’s tacky.”

“But covering your husband and children in Hummel attire, down to Bertie’s pull-up, isn’t?”

“Blaine!” Kurt protested.

Blaine raised a finger to his smirking lips, “Shhh, you’ll wake them.”

Finally, atop the stairs, Blaine and Kurt took a left down the hallway to their children’s bedrooms, passing portraits of Tori and Blaine’s best kissy faces, Bertie using Kurt’s nose as a pacifier, and one of all of them in the backyard, Tori clutching a six-month old Bertie and Blaine with his arm around Kurt’s waist as they gesture proudly to the newly erected tree house behind them.

Kurt had insisted on Tori and Bertie having separate bedrooms. He had said something about independence, the age difference, and “Blaine, the house is huge; we may as well utilize it!” However, Blaine was sure it was mostly because Kurt wanted an excuse to do more decorating. In fact, he was certain of it.

Tori, all of seven, was developing her own tastes and currently she had a taste for purple. Lots of purple. Kurt did not approve but could not refuse and did the best he could with the color pallet she demanded.  Bertie, on the other hand, being a few months shy of two years old, was only particular about his sippy cup, so Kurt had free reign. No toddler in America had a more sophisticated nursery. Burnt orange walls, a red wine chaise lounge (“rocking chairs were so last century”), and deep yellow accents and throw pillows, brought together with the most intricate floor rug Blaine had ever seen. The day Bertie had spit up on the rug had been a national disaster.

With the kids safely tucked away and the baby monitors switched on (“I worry. What if Tori needs water in the night?”), Kurt and Blaine headed back down the hallway toward the master suite. It had been what really sold Kurt on the house. Well, that and the imported granite countertops in the kitchen. Blaine loved it because he got to share it with Kurt, in their home, with their children sleeping down the hall. In that room, with Kurt, was where Blaine felt most like a part of a family.

Blaine reached out to place his hand on the small of Kurt’s back, but Kurt sped up just as Blaine’s fingertips brushed against his coat. Just out of Blaine’s reach. Kurt arrived at the double doors of their bedroom first and pushed them open with a sigh.

Kurt made quick work of undressing, carefully hanging coats and scarves, and even though it would be delivered to the dry cleaner’s tomorrow, Kurt still hung his McQueen suit. By the time Kurt was in his silk pajamas and seated in front of his vanity, Blaine had changed, turned down the bed and was on his side of their bed, making his way again, by lamp light, through Vonnegut’s _Slaughterhouse Five_. 

Kurt silently and diligently went through the work of his nightly skin sloughing routine. When Blaine had joined him in New York some 19 years ago and they had started their life together, he had been outraged to find that Blaine had never actually joined in the skin care routine (“I knew I could see your pores!”). His anger had dissipated, however, upon Blaine’s further confession that he had lain under his covers, muttering affirmations into the phone, content just to hear Kurt’s voice as he drifted into sleep.

Blaine bookmarked and closed his novel, replacing it on the nightstand before switching off the lamp. He slid beneath the covers, resting his head on his pillow, and was almost asleep when he heard Kurt rise from his vanity and pad over to the bed. Feeling Kurt’s weight depress the mattress, Blaine automatically rolled over, ready to take Kurt into his arms for the night. But Kurt lingered, seated at the edge of the bed, his stiff back to Blaine.  When Kurt finally lay down, he did not scoot backward into Blaine’s waiting warmth like usual, but stayed huddled on his side. Concerned, Blaine inched toward his lover and placed a gentle hand on his hip. Kurt tensed and Blaine pulled back as if he had been burned. 

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong all night. Kurt had not been himself at the launch of his new collection. He had been cold and aloof, especially toward Blaine, but Blaine had just thought it was the stress. Now, he was sure it was more.

“Kurt,” his hoarse whisper filled the room. “Babe. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” It was a lie.

“Kurt. You’ve been off all night. Even Tori noticed you didn’t join in our potato dance like you usually do,” Blaine tried at a joke, reaching out again to run his hand up and down Kurt’s arm. Blaine never could resist touching Kurt.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kurt.” Just his name. Kurt had always been amazed at how Blaine could embed, demand, request and give so much in the one syllable of his name. He had never been able to deny Blaine the truth, especially when appealed for in this way.

“I’m just not sure anymore,” Kurt uttered in a defeated whisper.

“Not sure?”

Silence.

“About what? Is it something at work? A new design giving you trouble?”

“You could say that.”

“Kurt. Don’t be coy. Tell me about it.” There it was again. His name. He had to. He owed him this.

“His name is Brimley.”

Blaine’s hand stilled on Kurt’s arm. “You’re unsure? About Brimley?” It was a question within a question and Kurt could hear the fear and latent trust, and knew he was about to shatter the latter. Kurt thought fleetingly that he should turn to face him, but knew neither of them had the strength.

“No.” The breath barely escaped his mouth but it was audible and Kurt could feel the steadying breath Blaine took, his grip noticeably firmer on Kurt’s arm. When Blaine finally spoke, a breath marked every punctuation, as though the impending truth was suffocating him.

“Then…what are you…unsure about?”

“Us.”

Blaine’s hand was gone. Blaine was gone. Kurt finally turned, propped up on his knees ready to chase him, but what he saw riveted him to the spot. It was as though he had emerged from a bunker to see the utter destruction and carnage unfathomable he had caused. Even in the darkness of their bedroom, he could see Blaine, curved in on himself, huddled at the edge of the bed, his hands cradling and hiding his face.

Blaine was doubled over, trying to navigate the rising tide of questions. _When did Kurt and I last make love? Who else knows? What will we tell Tori? What did I do wrong? Does Kurt love him? Does he still love me? How will we tell Tori? Can I fix this? Has Kurt had him in our house, in our bed?_ The last thought drove him from the bed to his feet.

“How long?” The words tumbled out and Blaine was surprised by the strength in his own voice and the clarity of his words because his mind was a maze fraught with the danger of doubts, and worse, potential answers, at every corner.

“Wha—“

“How long!” Blaine raised his voice and it was dripping with tension that was filling the growing space between he and Kurt.

“Blaine, it’s not like that. We haven’t –“

“ _We_? So it’s ‘ _we_ ’ now?”

“No. Blaine, please,” Kurt pled, frantic with the need to explain. “Brimley and I –“

“Why does that sound so familiar?” There was a new quality to Blaine’s tone, as though laughter was lurking beneath the surface.

“I may have mentioned him before…” Kurt’s voice was small, cautious.

“No. It reminds me of something,” Blaine searched his mind, sure there was a reason beyond the obvious why this name triggered something. “Sugar…” he played with the word and a slight smile began to form at his lips, clashing against his eyes brimming with tears and anger.

“Blaine, please,” Kurt begged, knowing what was coming.

“Or hospitals…” Blaine cocked his head to the side, the now wide, sarcastic smile firmly affixed to his face.

“No, Blaine. Don’t.”

“Haha, yes! I remember now,” and affecting a terrible southern accent, Blaine continued, “Get your di-a-bee-tus testing supplies at Liberty Medical. It’ll help you live a better life.” They had shared this joke years ago, in their youth together. It had been funny then. They had laughed until their cheeks and stomachs burned with the hilarity of an old man extolling the benefits of Liberty Medical in the fight against di-a-bee-tus. Now it served as a reminder of all Blaine had certainly lost in the last minute: his past, his future, his best friend.  And Blaine was crazy with it. He paced the room, teetering back and forth between hysterical tears and maniacal laughter.

Kurt stood stock still as Blaine unraveled around him, afraid any movement would tip Blaine to one extreme.

“So, you’re into Wilfred T. Brimley?” Blaine discovered he was yelling, but could not bring himself to stop. “If it was a mustache you wanted, Kurt, I would’ve grown one for you. All you had to do was ask.”

“Stop it, Blaine. This isn’t a joke.” Kurt’s voice was controlled, they both could not fall apart, he had to stay standing. After all, he had been the one who pushed.

“Don’t tell me about jokes,” Blaine spat. The force of the words almost sent Kurt to his knees as Blaine’s wall of indignant sarcasm crumbled and Blaine was left standing there exposed in his pain and outrage. “You’ve made this a joke,” he said, gesturing around their still dark bedroom. “Our life together. Tori and Bertie. Our love. All big fucking jokes. Why aren’t you laughing, Kurt? Huh? It’s all just so-fucking-funny!”

“Daddy?” A whisper. “Papa?” It was Tori. She was standing in their doorway, her curls mussed, a clump of her royal purple nightgown clutched in one of her tiny fists, her watery blue eyes darting back and forth between her fathers.

All of Blaine’s anger turned inward as he watched, immobile, as Kurt rushed to Tori, dropping to his knees at her purple, house-shoed feet.

“Please don’t fight,” she implored Kurt, now eye to eye. “I don’t like it, Papa. And you’ll wake Bertie, and nobody likes that,” she added with a sniffle. Kurt thumbed a tear from her cheek.

“We’re sorry, Sweet Pea.”

“You’re right, angel,” Blaine added, waking from his reverie and walking toward his daughter and husband. “We shouldn’t fight. Do you want to go check on Bertie?” Blaine asked, taking her hand.

“I checked on my way here. But we should check again. Just in case,” Tori decided with a little nod.

“Just in case,” Blaine confirmed, lifting her onto his hip and setting out toward Bertie’s room, Kurt keeping pace behind them.

They found Bertie fast asleep in his limited edition crib. He had really tired himself out on the train home demonstrating his rendition of the potato dance for all the passengers. Secure in the knowledge that Bertie was safe in dreamland, Tori allowed her fathers to tuck her back into bed.

Blaine bent down, smoothed Tori’s lilac comforter and whispered, “Goodnight, angel. Daddy and Papa love you.”

“Do Daddy and Papa love each other?”

Blaine’s eyes instinctively closed against the pain. After a moment, he answered, “Daddy loves Papa.”

“And Papa loves Daddy,” Kurt replied firmly. Blaine could feel Kurt’s eyes on him, but his eyes never left Tori’s.

“You promise?” Tori pushed and Blaine’s heart broke with the knowledge that his actions brought her such distress and that right now, at that moment, he could not supply the words of comfort she needed. He was both thankful and hopeful when Kurt spoke.

“Promise.”

 

The walk back to their bedroom was long and silent. Blaine did not reach for Kurt. The pictures of their happy past made a mockery of their present. This time Blaine crossed the threshold first.  When Kurt followed, Blaine already had the suitcase open on their bed, clothes haphazardly thrown inside.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to go.” Blaine’s voice was even, but just so, as he pulled a sweater over his head.

“Blaine, you can’t leave,” Kurt pressed, taking a tentative step toward the bed, near Blaine.

“I have to.” He was firm yet calm as he shut the suitcase. Suitcase in hand, he retrieved his coat and scarf from the closet. “We promised we wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Kurt muttered as Blaine walked past him toward the door. “Where will you go?” he asked Blaine’s back.

Blaine stopped and turned, his grip firm on the banister, “Oh, so now you’re concerned about me?” His temper was rising again. _I have to go_ , he thought, picking up speed descending the stairs.

“Blaine, please. We have to talk about this.” Kurt stood breathless in the foyer, at the foot of the stairs watching Blaine slip on his shoes, grab his keys from the hutch and open the door.

“No. We promised we wouldn’t and I can’t do this right now without breaking that promise. I won’t let you turn anything else into a lie tonight.”

The door shut and they both were alone. 


	2. Options

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place 19 years before chapter one.  
> Sorry in advance for any formatting issues in this chapter.

**Thursday, October 18, 2012 (Nineteen years ago)**

 

 

Kurt was putting the finishing touches on his first writing assignment for Critical Reading and Writing 1 when he heard the Skype notification—it always reminded him of raindrops. Blaine’s icon—a red, white and blue bow tie—faded into view and Kurt smiled. He had been editing this damned essay for hours and did not think he could bullshit anymore about the “signs and symbols” embedded in ancient fashions. He appreciated vintage as much as the next boy, but he didn’t see how interpreting the societal impact of symbols in 1880s fashion was going to help him become the next great American designer. None of the Project Runway contestants had to write essays. Kurt hastily saved the document, closed the window, and double-clicked on Blaine’s icon, glad that his reward for completing that damned essay would be a chat with Blaine.

“You sure are a sight for these sore eyes,” Kurt said smiling at Blaine’s bright eyes, which were shining with that I-never-have-and-never-will-love-another-the-way-I-love-you quality they always had when they were fixed upon Kurt.  Blaine was the only person who had ever looked at him that way and Kurt figured he would be the only one that ever would, which was okay, because it was  _Blaine_. Blaine Anderson—possibly the most perfect boyfriend to ever come into existence.  Not only was he absolutely dreamy—and by dreamy, think 50s movie star dreamy, Gene Kelly dreamy, slicked back hair, sweater vest, cuffed slacks and all, dreamy—but he was also adorably witty, perfectly mannered, immensely loving, and so talented he could probably single-handedly bring back the movie musical with a few falsetto notes and a twirl.

But the best part about Blaine was that he was  _his_  and Kurt was never surer of that than when Blaine was looking at him the way he was now. Blaine’s hair was wet, and his curls were plastered to his head, the ends of his tendrils framing his face. In an hour, his hair would air-dry into an adorable mess of dark tresses that Blaine would insist on gelling down “to maintain proper decorum.” No one else got to see Blaine like this—completely natural and unguarded.  Blaine was wearing Kurt’s Wicked t-shirt, which Kurt had accidentally-on-purpose left at Blaine’s after their last night together. Kurt’s stomach flipped and a smile overtook him at the sight of the boy he loved so clearly missing him—needing him. Even across miles and through a computer screen, the intensity of Blaine’s love tinged his porcelain skin pink with warmth. 

“Bad day?” Blaine asked, tilting his head to the side with an empathetic grin.

“Bad semester is more like it.”

“But it’s only just started. Are you hating Parsons already? Because now would be a bad time to ask me for advice. As you can see,” he said, gesturing to his (Kurt’s) shirt, “supportive-boyfriend-Blaine has been replaced with evil-boyfriend-Blaine, and right now he wants you to come back to Ohio for the most nefarious of cuddles.”

“I miss you too,” Kurt breathed.

“And what about cuddles?” Blaine teased lightly.

“I especially miss cuddles.”

“Virtual cuddle time?”

“I think so.”

They had stumbled upon virtual cuddles accidentally during the first weekend into their attempt at making this long-distance thing work. That past January, Kurt had suffered a mini nervous breakdown due to the stress of awaiting the NYADA decision. Kurt already had a flare for the dramatic, but Blaine thought the theatrics that Kurt displayed during what Blaine affectionately titled “Kurt Hummel’s Great Break With Reality of 2011” may have been severe enough to rival a patented Rachel Berry diva fit, and that was saying something.  Once Blaine was able to help Kurt restore a tentative, one-handed grip on reality, they had taken out Kurt’s bucket list and distilled from it all of Kurt’s most realistic career paths.

_Career Options for Kurt Hummel’s Fabulous Life:_

1\. The next Patti Lupone (a.k.a. Broadway star)

2\. The next Alexander McQueen (a.k.a. Fashion designer)

3\. The next Anna Wintour (a.k.a. fashion editor)

 

Kurt had dictated the list, and Blaine, ever the practical one, had added the parenthetical information – Kurt should not strive to be the next someone else and deprive the world of the first and only Kurt Hummel. With the possible destinations laid out in front of them, they plotted the course.

Kurt and Blaine took to Google to assess what kind of education the next Lupone, McQueen, or Wintour would need. A BFA in Musical Theater or a BFA in Vocal Performance coupled with a Masters in Fine Arts a la Kristen Chenoweth was clearly the route for Hummel–Broadway star. He would need a BFA in Fashion Design or he would have to win Project Runway if he wanted to see young, fashionable men wearing his creations. And if Kurt decided he preferred to grow horns and wear Prada in order to dictate the direction of fashion, he would need a BFA in Fashion Editing, Merchandising, or Management. 

Armed with real, tangible options, Kurt restored his grip on reality. Kurt was set on New York and Blaine was set on Kurt fulfilling his dreams, so New York it would be. With that decided, Kurt and Blaine composed a new list of schools.

 

_Schools That Will Soon Recognize the Genius of Hummel:_

**Musical Theater/Vocal Performance**

Tisch School of the Arts NYU - Drama

~~NYADA~~

**Fashion Design**

Pratt

Parsons The New School for Design

**Fashion Editing/Management**

The Art Institute of NY

Parsons The New School for Design

 ~~FIT – Jan 1 deadline~~

 

With Blaine’s help, Kurt assessed what each application entailed and began on his portfolios in earnest. All were fairly standard if time consuming.

Parsons’ design program required a portfolio of 8-12 pieces, which Kurt easily gathered, considering he had been designing and creating his own ensembles since he was five. The Parsons Challenge was an entirely different beast, however.

The challenge:   **Explore something usually overlooked within your daily environment. Choose** **_ one _ ** **  object, location, or activity. **

_Glee._

The answer had come to him immediately. The problem came in the execution:

_**Using any medium or media,  interpret your discovery in 3 original pieces. Support each piece of art with an essay of approximately 250 words. The series you create should convey a conceptual and creative response of the subject matter you have chosen to discover.** _

_ **Acceptable media are any—drawing, video, photography, sculpture, 3D work, collage, digital images, etc. You may choose to work in a consistent medium or vary the media.** _

He had a vision. Could he make it work?

Two weeks later, he sat with all of the Glee club—all of his friends—gathered around, Blaine’s fingers intertwined with his, as they all watched as clips of each of them being slushied, verbally harassed, and bullied (JBI had finally made himself useful) were interlaced with their most heartfelt performances. Each performance was embodied in and coupled with a flawless ensemble, drawn, created and photographed by Kurt. Each piece was overlaid with his words encapsulating the impact and importance of each design, as their harmonies played like a whisper, reminding the viewer of what must not be overlooked.  It was an achievement in visual presentation, and representation, but most of all in self-determination. It was a manifesto, a declaration that they should not and would not be ignored. They had meaning. They had voices. Kurt would make sure that they were not only seen but also heard.

Kurt had put his heart and soul into that project and had come away realizing that fashion design was indeed his heart and soul. It allowed him to express his own, unique voice in a way that all would hear, see and adopt. When his acceptance letter from Parsons arrived, there was no question in his mind where he would go.

Now, as he picked his computer up from his desk and walked toward his twin bed to engage in virtual cuddles, the bittersweet taste of success rose in his throat. The pain of being so far from the person he loved was only dulled by the knowledge that he was pursuing a career which was sure to be a success if he loved it even an iota as much as he loved Blaine—which he must since he was here and Blaine was there.  _May 15 th_, he thought. Just until May 15.

Kurt placed his laptop on his pillow and shimmied beneath the covers. Once under the soothing layers of sheet and comforter, he rested his head on his pillow and adjusted his laptop so that he was looking into Blaine’s warm hazel eyes. Blaine was snuggled beneath his covers, his still wet curls dampening his cool pillow, staring longingly at his laptop resting on Kurt’s side of the bed. Blaine had deemed it Kurt’s side of the bed when Kurt had dozed there after their first time, and Blaine, unable to bear any distance between their still love-warm bodies, had pressed himself against Kurt’s back and enveloped him in his arms, never wanting to let go.  Now, he could not stop himself from reaching toward the screen in an attempt to caress Kurt’s face the way he longed to—the way he would if Kurt were there with him.

Kurt, seeing Blaine reach for the screen, closed his eyes, trying to feel Blaine’s fingertips on his skin. “I wish you were here.”

            “Mmm, but you should be  _here_. My bed’s bigger.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “I know, Kurt.” Blaine paused, the emphasis on Kurt’s name transforming it into an endearment. “So, tell me about this bad seme—er, five weeks.”

            “The work load,” Kurt sighed. “I thought 18 hours of coursework wouldn’t be a problem, especially since I’m working at something I really care about but between my studio and lab classes, I’m having trouble finding time to write these mind-numbing essays for Crit and Perspectives. I guess I just thought there’d be less writing about fashion and more doing fashion.”

            “You’ll adjust,” Blaine encouraged. “When I transferred to Dalton, I thought I was going to drown in the course work, but I got used to it in time.”

            “Evidenced by your homework tossing tendencies.”

            “Yes, well, that had more to do with my passion for performance than with my mastery of material. But you get the point. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

            “Thank you,” Kurt said. It was sincere. “But it’s not just the work. I also don’t have any time to actually talk with anyone long enough to get past awkward small talk and actually make a friend.”

            “What about your roommate?”

            “Jermane is fine. But he’s a little too high strung for my taste. His intensity puts me even more on edge. I’m afraid that if we were in this room together for more than 15 minutes doing anything besides sleeping that our combined mania would morph into a black hole into which all remaining sanity in a three-block radius would be irretrievably sucked.”

            “Well, we can’t have that,” Blaine agreed. Blaine put his elbow on his pillow and propped his head up on his hand in a way that he hoped seemed nonchalant, before he took a shallow but noticeable breath and asked, “What about Timmy?”

            “Who?” Kurt’s brow furrowed with confusion.

            “ _Timmy_. Kurt. The guy who’s been all over your Facebook wall.”

            “You sound jealous.”

            “Should I be?”

            “No,” Kurt said with a roll of his eyes.

            “So he knows you have an impeccably dressed, devoted boyfriend who has this thing he can’t talk about that means he is capable of incapacitating him in seconds if he tries anything with you?”

            “Oh, stop it. He’s nobody. He’s barely even a friend.”

            “Does he know that?”

            “He knows,” Kurt said, adjusting to mimic Blaine’s posture. “And besides, he’s probably not even interested.” Kurt was doing it again. Blaine could find Kurt’s self-deprecation as adorable as his other quirks if Kurt weren’t always so wrong about himself.

            “Kurt, your inability to recognize and accept your overwhelming sexiness boggles my mind.”

            “You’re the only one who sees me like that.”

            “That is not true,” Blaine said sitting up all the way, shaking his head. “You’re incredibly attractive and lots of people notice. You just don’t notice them noticing. Trust me, I’ve side-eyed more than a few guys _and girls_  who were giving you the eye. And right now, I’m giving Timmy the side-y-est of eyes.”

            “’Side-y-est,’ really? Very eloquent of you.” Kurt sat up with a smile, leaning his back against the wall and placing his computer in his lap.

            “Forgive the lapse of dapperness, but the fact remains that Timmy is interested in you.”

            “And how do you, with your unmatched inability to recognize attraction until it storms into a room crying and singing about a dead bird, presume to know such things?”

            “He’s liked all of your Facebook statuses and written on your wall five times in the last three days,” Blaine tried to say as casually as possible. It wasn’t Facebook stalking if the person in question was your boyfriend…was it?

            “That doesn’t mean anything, Blaine.”

            “Funny. I recall it meaning a lot when it was you and my Facebook wall two Novembers ago.” There was an edge to Blaine’s voice now.

            “Well then,” Kurt huffed, crossing his arms,  “we’re fine because you didn’t pick up that hint.”

            “Well, I’m picking it up now and you should as well.”  He knew when he said it that it was too much. His tone was curt, short.  He had messed up. Blaine was not frustrated with Kurt; it was the situation, the distance, both between he and Kurt and now and May 15th. Blaine pursed his lips and glanced away as a tense silence spread between them.

            “Just be careful, Kurt,” Blaine breathed—his apology in his tone. “You remember Sebastian.”

            “Do I ever.”

            “I’m sorry about that,” Blaine said, finally looking into the camera again, the closest to eye contact they could come.

            “It wasn’t your fault.”

            “I know. But the fact remains that I’m sorry.”

            “I know.” This time it was Kurt who reached for the screen. “I miss you.”

            “I miss you too.”

            “Can we cuddle a bit more?”

            “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

***

 

**Saturday, March 22, 2031**

 

They had “cuddled” for another 30 or so minutes, Blaine remembered, until Jermane had returned in a haze of fabric swatches and sketches and Kurt had to go. Blaine had struggled to cope with that suffocating feeling of distance, like the miles were weights applied to his chest, collapsing his lungs. He and Kurt had nearly crumbled under the weight of it. Now, as he drove away from the home, the life, and the love they had built together, with Bertie’s empty car seat staring back at him in the rear view mirror, Blaine could not take a breath.

He had barely made it three blocks before his grief steered him onto the side of the road and engulfed him. There, under the harsh glare of the streetlight, Blaine came undone. Sobbing and clutching at his collar, trying to take in air, Blaine yanked his sweater from his heaving body and savagely threw it aside. Finally, with breath in his lungs, the dam broke and he was convulsing with it, as if the pain were a parasite, trapped inside and fighting to escape. It left him in wails and moans and filled the space where his family should have been and suddenly he was trapped in his car, with his anguish as his only companion.  The car was filling up; there wasn’t enough space for him and the remnants of his shattered life. He would suffocate—choke on it. He pushed and lashed out wildly against the seats, the dashboard, the windows, before finding the lock, pushing the door open, and throwing himself bodily from the car. Blaine found the ground with his hands and knees and it was cold. He gulped in the chilled air to feed his sobs and found himself vomiting the contents of the last meal he had shared with Kurt into the street. He heaved until he was empty and dry and he collapsed backward against the side of the car, holding his knees to his chest. 

Blaine’s hands shook with the shock of his utter loss of control, and his mind filled with a voice that was not his own—the voice he always heard in his moments of weakness, of failure.  _This is not acceptable behavior, Blaine._ He tried to block out the words, but his mind was too fragile.  _You simply cannot behave this way._   _It is improper and unbecoming of an Anderson._

Blaine stood up and shakily brushed off his hands and knees. He got back into the car, retrieved his sweater from where it had fallen, and pulled it back over his head. He shut the door, buckled his seat belt and with a glance into the rear view mirror, smoothed his hair. He started the car and drove away, leaving the only remnant of a broken Blaine pooled in the street beneath the glare of the accusing streetlight.

When he got to the gate, he gave Jim, the security guard, a winning smile and waved as he passed.

He was going to be fine. He  _was_  fine. He was Blaine Anderson. He had no choice but to be fine. He had done this before. He had the strength to wait. Again.

When had he started believing his own lies? Probably around the time Kurt had started telling them.


	3. The First Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins three days before the end of chapter two.

**Wednesday, March 19, 2031 (Three days ago)**

 

 

**Kurt                                  4:30pm**

_The imbeciles I let organize this_

_weekend’s show have ruined my brilliant_

_vision. I’ll be home late tonight._

 

**Kurt                                   4:32pm**

_I’m sorry._

 

**Hubby                                4:33pm**

_Don’t worry about it, Kurt. I’ll leave some_

_of T & B’s creation in the oven for you._

_They’re excited about cooking tonight._

 

**Hubby                                4:34pm**

_I’m afraid of what will happen_

_without you…_

 

**Kurt                                   4:41pm**

_Oh, I forgot it’s their night…wait_

 

**Hubby                                4:43pm**

_If you need to stay, you need to stay._

_New line, new show. We understand._

_We’ll miss you._

 

**Kurt                                     4:47pm**

_Miss you too._

 

 

 

*****

**Monday, September 9, 2030 (Six months ago)**

 

The Legend Line was Kurt’s new baby. It was edgy, chic and over the top. It was Kurt. He would never admit it to anyone (he did not have to admit it to Blaine because Blaine already knew) but he had been holding back. When he had first opened his little boutique he had wanted to follow his heart but knew he needed to tame it so that it would sell. He and Blaine literally could not afford for Kurt’s boutique not to work out.  Blaine had put a large amount of his trust fund into Kurt’s dream and as a result his father had cut him off. The fight had been epic.

Kurt still remembered when he had sold his line of bow ties to _Lord & Taylor_. His big break. Now, 11 years later, seated in his spacious office in a New York high-rise surrounded by windows revealing the majestic New York skyline, he could not believe it was happening. Still, deep down there was still that nagging doubt – would the public accept him, the real him? Unbridled Hummel was a lot to handle.

“Mr. Hummel?” His assistant’s voice broke his trance. “Your team is assembled in the conference room. We’re ready when you are.”

“Thank you, Tiffany. Let them know I’ll be there shortly.”

 

***

 

The conference table was expansive and the new members of his team, the people selected to bring his vision to life, were seated around it.

Shalaine McNally, Head Assistant Fashion Designer, sat at the table flanked by her assistants, Sheila, Billy and Lionel, a.k.a. The Gaggle of Gays, who were already animatedly flitting through sketches. Opposite them was Timothy Brewer, whose brilliant business mind had made him the obvious choice for Fashion Merchandiser. To his left was the lovely Janet Lane—an expert pattern maker. If you wanted to try something different, something difficult, you went to Lane. If she could not make it work, it could not be done. Next to her was Phoenix Song, and with a name like that it was obvious she was the artsy one. Her fingers were always stained with some sort of paint or charcoal—remnants of her last illustration of Kurt’s latest creation. If Kurt had the vision, Phoenix made it come alive on the page.

Lastly, at the head of the table, opposite Kurt, stood Brimley Johnson, Product Development Manager. This was the man ultimately responsible for making sure Kurt’s vision became a reality. It was Brimley’s job to oversee everyone else. He was the link between conceptualization, design, construction, and the selling of the Legend Line. If Brimley did his job, Kurt could go home and sleep at night. Although Kurt never got much sleep, Brimley certainly did his job.

At 29, Brimley was something of a prodigy in the fashion world.  Young, undeniably attractive, charming, and ambitious, he had been entrusted with the production of Dior’s newest line at the age of 25 and had pulled it off seamlessly. There had been whispers concerning how he had landed the gig, but all were silenced when the line debuted and the first model strutted confidently onto the runway. Brimley was the best in the business, and most importantly, he was able to handle Kurt’s obsessive micromanaging.

Finally seated in his prized spot at the head of the table, which, like everything else in the room, had been hand selected by him, Kurt crossed his legs, gave a nod, and Brimley began the presentation. Kurt was a man of details and Brimley spared none. For nearly two hours, Brimley laid out in pain-staking detail what the next six months would entail, calling on each member of the team in turn to expound upon her or his role.

Walking back to his office, Kurt felt the meeting had been long but productive. He was glad he had opted for style and comfort in choosing the chairs. Aching tailbones did nothing for concentration. Although still understandably anxious, Kurt felt confident as he leaned back in his chair, propping his feet, impeccably clad in knee-high lace-up boots, up on his desk as he flipped through his scribbles from the meeting. _What had Brimley said about the timeline on importing those rhinestones?_

Kurt swung his legs dramatically from the desk, slammed his papers down, and jabbed the call button on his desk phone.

“Tiffany. Get Brimley in here.”

“But sir, you just left the meet—”

“Yes,” he sighed heavily. “I’m well aware of this Tiffany. With all your questioning, perhaps you’d be better suited to be a TV game show host. Your availability for such a position can be quickly arranged.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hummel. I’ll get him.”

 

Brimley was seated across from Kurt two minutes later, patiently rehashing details from the production timeline to the transport used to import the silk. Forty-three minutes later, Kurt’s newest and most inane question yet was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Tiffany! I swear!”

“Forgive me. Tiffany wasn’t at her desk, so I just came on in,” came a warm voice that was certainly not Tiffany’s. A gelled head emerged from the crack. “Hi there,” Blaine said with a smile. Then, noticing the suit in the room, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”

“Hey you,” Kurt grinned, his perfected annoyed tone gone at the sight of his husband. “Not a problem. Blaine, this is Brimley. He’s producing the Legend Line and dealing with my insanity.”

“Welcome to my world, Brimley.” Blaine said, extending his hand.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” replied Brimley with a polite nod.

“I’ll be done shortly. Then dinner?” Kurt asked.

“Then dinner. I’ll just go bother the worker bees.”

“They’ll love that.” Kurt smiled.

“Good to meet you, Brimley,” Blaine offered again before exiting.

“And you.” Alone again, Brimley turned his attention back to Kurt. “Was that the lucky Mr. Hummel?”

“Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt corrected. He loved their joint name—a sign of their connection, their commitment. “Yes.”

“He’s cute.”

“I know.”

“You’re cuter.” Brimley smiled.

“Umm…” Kurt’s confused expression was tinted pink with embarrassment. “Thank you,” he managed. “Well…so…what were we talking about?”

“The brand of thread we’re using for inseams, sir.”

 

*****

**Thursday, September 26, 2030 (two weeks later)**

 

 

**Brimley Johnston           9:43pm**

_Why are you still in your office?_

 

**The Boss                        9:46pm**

_The same reason you are. Working._

 

**Brimley Johnston            9:47pm**

_Clearly, I’m not doing my job._

 

**The Boss                        9:49pm**

_What do you mean? You’re doing a_

_wonderful job._

 

**Brimley Johnston            9:50pm**

_If I were, you wouldn’t be here._

 

**The Boss                         9:53pm**

_I’m over anal_

 

**Brimley Johnston            9:54pm**

_Hmmm. I could help with that._

 

**The Boss                         9:54pm**

_Analyzing! Over analyzing. Fucking_

_autocorrect._

 

**Brimley Johnston             9:55pm**

_The former is more interesting._

 

**The Boss                         10:17pm**

_Goodnight, Brimley._

 

**Brimley Johnston            10:18pm**

_Goodnight, Mr. Hummel._

 

**The Boss                         10:19pm**

_Anderson-Hummel._

 

**Brimley Johnston             10:23pm**

_Of course._

 

 

*****

**Friday, September 27, 2030 (the next day)**

 

Kurt was frantically scurrying around his office, packing up his things. Tori and Bertie were making dinner that night (Well, he and Blaine were making dinner and allowing Tori to help while Bertie acted as spectator from his highchair) and he was running late. He and Blaine usually met up at Penn Station and commuted together via the train back to their home in Manhasset. However, a last second meeting had delayed Kurt and forced Blaine to go without him so as to retrieve Bertie from daycare and pick up Tori from her afterschool dance lessons.

This had been one of their promises. If they were going to have children, they were going to be parents. When they had finally decided, two years into their marriage and nine years into their relationship, that they were ready for children, they had put their lush New York apartment up for lease and bought a home in the suburbs. Blaine insisted on a large backyard to rough house and play with their children and pets. Kurt demanded a top-of-the-line kitchen, hardwood floors, and more rooms than he could decorate.  They had admitted that with their schedules, daycare was a necessary evil. However, no matter how hectic their schedules became, they promised to always be the ones to pick up their children from daycare, school and the many extracurricular activities in which they were sure their little prodigies would be involved.

Blaine’s career as a composer and music producer allowed him more flexibility in his schedule, especially since they built the recording studio in the basement. So when Tori or Bertie were sick, he was most often the one to stay home and care for them. Kurt’s micromanaging and the level of detail involved in producing high-class fashion made his presence at his offices a necessity.  And currently, as Kurt shoved the last sketches into his briefcase, he cursed his micromanaging and obsessive attention to detail for making him late.

The knock on the door startled Kurt and he momentarily lost his grip on his briefcase. “Come in!” When Brimley’s thin yet muscular frame entered, Kurt wished he had not let Tiffany go home early. If she had been at her desk he would have at least been warned about this. It had been 20 hours since the texting catastrophe and Brimley’s horribly inappropriate yet strangely flattering response.

Kurt had done his best to avoid Brimley all day, which was particularly difficult considering he had so many questions and worries that Brimley could have easily answered and quelled. Instead Kurt had to rely on Tiffany to corral key players for individual meetings. Kurt had demanded to see Shalaine three separate times, and when Shalaine took a long lunch (most likely to rid herself of Kurt), he had sequestered the Gaggle of Gays for a full 45 minutes.  The Gaggle proved themselves useful, but the information they gave him only created more questions. Unfortunately, he had only allowed himself to meet with Phoenix Song once because she kept leaving smudges of charcoal on his expensive office upholstery and it just was not worth it.

Janet came in while he was attacking the guest chair with fabric cleaner. She looked over the drawings Phoenix Song had left and tentatively green-lit them before heading off to attempt to construct Kurt’s latest alteration to the Legend Line. That was how the day had gone: random, frantic meeting after random, frantic meeting. Kurt had been just about ready to pack up and rush off to meet Blaine when his overactive brain suddenly required knowledge only contained within one Timothy Brewer. Kurt had been picking his brain when his phone buzzed with a text from a worried Blaine.

 

**Hubby                       4:15pm**

_Where are you? If we don’t make_

_the next train, we’ll be late._

 

**Kurt                          4:17pm**

_Shit! Last minute meeting :(  Go_

_on without me. You can’t be late._

_I’ll see you all at home._

 

**Hubby                       4:18pm**

_Okay. Don’t be too long. They’re_

_cooking tonight :)_

 

**Kurt                          4:19pm**

_Leaving soon. Wouldn’t miss it_

_for the world! xoxo_

 

“The family?” asked Timothy as Kurt sat down his phone.

“Yes. Let’s end this so we can both go tend to our families.”

“Sounds good. Are you sure you don’t have anymore questions?”

“Of course I do, but they can wait. Now get out!” Kurt teased playfully. “And tell that lovely wife of yours I need that recipe. Blaine’s been raving about that dip for weeks.”

“Will do, Kurt. See ya Monday.”

If only he had had one less meeting, or spent one less minute being an anal retentive perfectionist, maybe he would not be standing here now being made to feel decidedly uncomfortable under the gaze of Brimley’s green eyes.

“Kurt?”

“Yes, Brimley? I’m busy,” Kurt responded brusquely, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sorry for last night,” Brimley whispered sincerely. Kurt’s hands stilled and a silence rippled between them.

“Good,” Kurt finally commented. Then, because he wanted to make the next point crystal clear, Kurt looked directly into Brimley’s eyes. “It was inappropriate.”

“I know. It won’t happen again. Let me make it up to you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Brimley. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“Really, Kurt. Let me take you to dinner.” The look on Kurt’s face clearly messaged his outrage because, really, a dinner invitation? Brimley had understood nothing.

“Brimley! What don’t you underst—“

 “No, not like that,” Brimley tried to explain, accurately reading Kurt’s expression and tone. “It would be purely professional. We can start over and you can ask all the nitpicky questions you’d like.” 

“Fine, Brimley. Fine. We’ll have dinner,” Kurt rushed with a flippant wave of his hand. Kurt was not sure why he had agreed. Maybe it was his haste to get rid of Brimley so he could get home. Maybe it was the lure of unlimited questions and guaranteed answers. Maybe it was his desire to make this business relationship work—Brimley was the best in the business after all. Regardless, Kurt felt uneasy.

“Great. Where to?” Brimley’s cocky half-grin was back.

“Not tonight, Brimley. I’m clearly busy. I’m already going to be late for dinner with my _family_.” Kurt stole another glance at Brimley; hopeful he had caught the intentional emphasis on Kurt’s last word.

Kurt’s bag was finally packed and he was pulling on his jacket—a gorgeous turquoise piece he had dreamt up two years ago, he remembered, while draped on top of Blaine, who was spread out, face down on the couch as Kurt’s fingertip gently sketched out designs on Blaine’s bare back.

“I see…another time then?” Brimley said, a mix of regret and defeat audible in his voice.

“Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Kurt said moving toward the door, “my _family_ is waiting for me.”

“Of course, sir,” Brimley said, stepping out of Kurt’s way. “Have a good night.”

“I will,” Kurt said with finality as he strutted past Brimley and out of the door.

 

***

When Kurt finally pushed open the front door, the sounds emanating from the kitchen made him fear the scene he would find. He walked from the foyer, and through the dining room. When he reached the entryway to the kitchen, he saw his fears had been justified.

Tori was atop the kitchen island, her socks sliding along the granite as she shook her hips and arms in time to Pink’s “Perfect” blasting from the speakers. When they had put in the basement studio, Blaine installed an intercom system and speakers throughout the house so that he could play his newest creations for Kurt without making him trek down to the basement. Instant communication. Kurt should have known that Blaine would also use it as an excuse to blast ancient pop songs. Blaine had never quite gotten over his love for female pop singers which, while certainly adorably annoying, had also paid off considering he was now writing songs for female pop singers resulting in the conspicuous Grammys strategically placed throughout the house.

Kurt’s eyes moved from Tori to Bertie, who was dancing along in his highchair and banging out the beat with a spoon that had clearly been used to mix some sort of sauce, which was now, to Kurt’s horror, being splattered all over Bertie, his high chair, and the walls with each swish of the spoon.

Blaine clearly saw nothing wrong with this as he was currently decked out in his “Kiss Me I’m Irish” apron, swiveling his hips in sync with the wooden spoon he was using to stir the concoction on the stove. He took a break from stirring to belt out a note into the spoon, shimmying over to Bertie and joining in the drumming.

If Kurt remembered correctly, the rap verse was about to begin. This needed to be stopped. Kurt was just about to intervene in the madness when Tori, completely enrapt in her potato dance, twirled on the smooth granite countertop and caught sight of her father.  

“Papa!” Tori yelled, her little arms flying into the air as though she had just scored a winning goal at one of her soccer matches. “You’re home!”

“Indeed,” Kurt intoned, framed by the archway from dining room to kitchen, his arms crossed and a superior smirk on his face as he locked eyes with a surprised Blaine.

“Kurt,” Blaine chuckled, his voice high pitched and guilty, as he shrugged his shoulders and bit his bottom lip. His hands raised and his face scrunched, clearly saying _I don’t know what I’m doing. Please don’t kill me_.

Kurt reached for the intercom panel on the wall, turned down the volume and walked into the disaster area that was their kitchen. “You’re in the kitchen without me, for what...oh, 20 minutes,” Kurt began, reaching up and swinging Tori down from the countertop, “and it turns into a performance by the Blue Man group?”

“Sorry, Papa. You know Daddy can’t help it,” Tori grinned and hugged Kurt’s leg.

“Mmm hmm. I certainly do,” Kurt giggled and patted Tori’s curly head. Blaine, still standing beside Bertie’s high chair, quickly grabbed the dirty spoon from the bouncing boy and whispered into his ear, “Sorry, buddy. We’ve been caught.”

“That you have,” Kurt chuckled. He placed Tori on a barstool and walked over to Blaine, kissed him gently on the cheek as he slipped the dirty spoon from Blaine’s hand, and ruffled Bertie’s dirty blonde locks with his empty hand. Then, he turned and deposited the stained spoon in the sink before continuing on to the pantry.

“We didn’t hear you come in,” Blaine said as he grabbed a napkin and started dabbing sauce from Bertie’s chubby cheeks.

“Of course not. You wouldn’t hear the onset of a zombie apocalypse in our front yard, what with you three putting on a Pink revival concert in here.” Kurt emerged from the pantry in his own designer apron. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti!” Tori cheered, bounding from her stool toward her fathers.

“Mmm,” Kurt crouched down and smiled at his daughter. “And have we added the oregano to the sauce yet?” Tori’s face scrunched with thought. She tilted her head up toward Blaine, questioning. Blaine shook his head slightly in answer and Tori turned back to Kurt and declared, “Not yet, Papa.”

“Well then,” Kurt said, rising, “it looks like we have work to do.”

 

****

 

With the kids well fed and in bed, Kurt and Blaine snuggled on the couch in the dark, the room lit only by the TV, on which a rerun of Oprah (that was all they ever showed on OWN these days) played silently in the background. They were in their customary position: Blaine prone on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the throw pillow beneath his head, and Kurt on his side, wedged between Blaine’s body and the back of the couch, one arm propping his head up and a leg draped over Blaine’s lower body.

“Tori has a soccer game tomorrow,” Blaine breathed, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Rachel wanted to come visit tomorrow. She’ll love that,” Kurt said, resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder, his breath tickling the back of Blaine’s neck.

“Mmm hmm, it should be fun.” Blaine smiled, his eyes closed. Kurt shifted, gently rubbing himself against Blaine’s hip.

“You know what else would be fun?” Kurt whispered into Blaine’s ear. Blaine hummed again, indicating his approval, and Kurt responded by propping up his upper body slightly and ghosting kisses over the nape of Blaine’s neck. Blaine gave a low chuckle. Kurt lifted his leg and began dragging his thigh up and down the back of Blaine’s thighs and caressing Blaine’s calf with his foot, all the while grinding himself against Blaine’s hip. Blaine was moaning lightly and Kurt had just begun to inch Blaine’s shirt from his pants when Kurt’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

“Ugh, who would be trying to contact you so late?” Blaine asked, his voice dripping with frustration of a sexual nature.

“I don’t know,” Kurt said, slightly intrigued. Blaine, eyes still closed, reached out blindly for the coffee table, and palmed it as though he were looking for a light switch in a dark, unfamiliar room. Finally grasping the phone, he passed it behind his head to Kurt. Phone in hand, Kurt stared at the new text message.

 

**Brimley                         10:34pm**

_Dinner? Monday after work. Purely_

_professional._

 

Kurt looked down at Blaine beneath him, sighed deeply, thumbed out his response, and tossed the phone lightly back onto the coffee table.

“Who was that?” Blaine asked.

“No one.” Kurt paused, “Just Tiffany letting me know I have a late meeting on Monday. Looks like I’ll have to miss dinner.”

“No problem, babe. Would you like us to keep dinner warm for you?” Blaine asked, nuzzling his face into the throw pillow.

“No. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Tiffany will have something delivered.”

“Okay. We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Kurt whispered, laying his head back atop Blaine’s shoulder.

“Mmm. Now where were we?” Blaine whispered groggily, shifting his hip against Kurt.

Kurt gave a satisfied groan and reached again for Blaine’s shirt. “I think…” he breathed, “we were…” he freed Blaine’s shirt from his pants, “right here.” Kurt slid his hand under Blaine’s shirt and across his warm skin as he placed the first of many kisses on his husband’s neck.

 

***

**Wednesday, March 19, 2031 (three days ago)**

 

 

**The Boss                          4:16pm**

_Drinks tonight?_

 

**Brimley Johnson               4:18pm**

_Purely professional?_

 

**The Boss                          4:22pm**

_No…_

 

**Brimley Johnson               4:23pm**

_What time?_

 

**The Boss                          4:26pm**

_7pm_

 

 


	4. Dinner & Drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins one week after the events of chapter one.

**Saturday, March 29, 2031 (One week later)**

 

“How was dinner last night?” Blaine asked. His eyes were still downcast--they had been since Kurt had walked in, taken the seat opposite him, and begun sipping from the nonfat mocha Blaine had already ordered for him. In all the years Blaine had known Kurt, his coffee order had never changed. It had been one of the first things he had memorized about Kurt; followed by the unique, vibrant blue of his eyes, then the crescent moon wrinkles that played at the corners of his mouth when he smiled—wrinkles which had become more defined over their nearly twenty years together. Blaine liked to think it was him who made Kurt smile the most. Now, he was no longer sure. Had Kurt’s face changed in the past week? Would his face show signs of the smile someone else was putting there? He could not bear to know. So Blaine sat, his eyes fixed on his hands which were clamped around his medium drip so that their shaking would not give away his nerves. 

“It was different…without you.” Kurt’s voice faltered. He was nervous as well. Maybe there was hope. Blaine allowed his eyes to flit upward. Even in his obvious sadness, Kurt was still beautiful.  _Sadness_ . 

“I wanted to be there,” Blaine confessed. “It was the first Friday night we haven’t had dinner together since…since…” he trailed off, bowing his head and tightening his grip on his cup.

“Since my dad died,” Kurt whispered. A moment of silence passed between them. “They miss you. Tori and Bertie.”

“I miss them too.” Blaine’s voice was rough with his pain. “I’d like to see them.” Kurt could hear the question, the hope in Blaine’s voice. 

“They would like that,” Kurt responded, offering a small smile. 

“What about tomorrow?” Blaine perked. “I could come pick them up.”

“That would be nice. I’ll tell them tonight.”

“Where are they now?” Blaine asked, looking around as if he expected them to be sitting nearby sharing a rice krispy treat. 

“With Rachel.”

“Have they asked about me?” 

“Bertie doesn’t really understand, but Tori...” Kurt paused, shifted his eyes to the side and blinked back tears. When he finally spoke, his voice was light and on the edge of breaking. “She wants to know where her Daddy is.” 

Blaine had never wanted this. He had promised himself his children would not ever be forced to ask these kinds of questions, especially of him. “What have you told her?” Blaine breathed.

“What was I supposed to tell her, Blaine?” There it was. Kurt’s anger was rising to the surface. “I didn’t even know where you were. You get angry. Storm out. No word from you for nearly a week. A week, Blaine! Until some random text asking me to meet you here. What should I have told her, Blaine?”

“Don’t do that,” Blaine said, trying to keep his voice even. “You always do that.” He was looking Kurt directly in the eyes for the first time. 

“Do what, Blaine?” Kurt raised his voice.

“Try to make this my fault,” Blaine jabbed the table with his index finger more forcefully than he had intended. “Instead of asking where I was, you should remind yourself why I left.” He had told himself he would not get angry—they would behave like adults and discuss this with the proper decorum. Blaine should have known better. Kurt always had a way of getting under his skin. He knew the buttons to push. And now Kurt was sitting there laying the entirety of the blame for Tori’s pain at Blaine’s feet. “I should be asking where you were while I was at home— _our_  home—taking care of  _our_  kids, while  _you_  were out doing who knows what with Mr. Liberty Medical.” Blaine was just getting warmed up, gesturing wildly and pointing an accusatory finger at Kurt. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Kurt leaned in and whispered in his conspiratorial tone, anxious to avoid a scene. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Blaine said, pounding the table with his fist, drawing alarmed looks from other customers. “How about you explain exactly what it was like and  _I’ll_  determine whether I need to calm down.” Blaine took a breath, leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and with a wave of his hand said, “Go ahead. Elucidate.”

 

*******

The first few dinners had been purely professional. No, Kurt had not told Blaine that he was out with Brimley. Kurt was at a meeting. That is all Blaine needed to know because that was all there was to it. Until about two months ago when dinner turned into dinner and drinks. 

 

**Tuesday, January 7, 2031 (Two months ago)**

 

They sat in a corner booth. The lights were dim. The ambient noise of the click of silverware against plates and couples chatting around them was soothing. Kurt was nursing his third cranberry and vodka. Brimley sat across from him, slowly sipping his bourbon. 

“So, how did you end up with Mr. Anderson?” It was not a question born from innocent interest.

“Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt corrected.

“Naturally.”

“We met in high school.”

“Ahh, high school sweethearts. How charming.” Again, this was not meant to be a compliment. How could it be when it was dripping with condescension?

“Yes. He is very charming,” Kurt countered.

“As are you.” That was supposed to be a compliment.

“Stop, Brimley.”

“No. You need to learn to take a compliment.” Brimley sat his drink aside, intertwined his fingers and leaned forward. His voice was low and sensual when he spoke. “I get it. You’ve been with the same guy basically all your life. Other men see you, and want you, but they’re too intimidated to approach you, and you’re too caught up in Prince Charming to notice them noticing.” Brimley cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes as if studying Kurt—sizing him up. “You’re not used to being pursued. It’s understandable but unacceptable. How many years has it been?”

“Nearly 20.”

“You’ve only been with one man? Twenty years? Ugh. I don’t know how you do it. You’ve never had any doubts?”

“No…” Kurt looked away. 

“Really?” Brimley pressed.

“Well…yes…once, but it was a long time ago. It was stupid.”

“Does he know?” 

“Of course. We tell each other everything.”

“Does he know you’re here with me?” Brimley arched his eyebrows.

“No,” Kurt murmured, averting his eyes. 

“Mmmm.”

Kurt should have ended it then. He did not. Kurt loved Blaine. Of course he did. But, in a way, Brimley was right. Kurt had never been pursued. He had never been desired or wanted. What was the harm in allowing someone to chase him, especially when he knew he would never let himself be caught? So dinner and drinks quickly turned into just drinks and Kurt never noticed that Brimley was gaining on him. 

 

*******

 

**Thursday, February 20, 2031 (One month ago)**

 

They were at the bar. Again. Kurt was perched on a stool with drink in hand and legs crossed. Brimley’s hand was on Kurt’s knee. Again. They were taking it in turns to ridicule the sad fashion choices of the other patrons. 

“You’re cruel,” Brimley chuckled. 

“You like it,” Kurt giggled.

“I like you.” Brimley let his hand drift up Kurt’s thigh.

“I know,” Kurt responded coyly, grabbing Brimley’s offending hand by the wrist with his index finger and thumb, as though it were a soiled rag, and tossing it to the side. 

“So, you’re just stringing me along?”

“Yes.” Kurt declared in his patented superior tone.

“Why?”

“Because you like it,” Kurt teased.

“And you like the attention.” Brimley leaned in.

“And what if I do?” Kurt asked, lifting his chin.

“Liking the attention isn’t a problem, especially since I like giving it.” Brimley began stroking the inside of Kurt’s wrist with his fingertip. “But you should ask yourself why you’re here bathing in my attentions and not at home with your Prince Charming.”

 

***********

 

**Tuesday, March 18, 2031 (11 days ago)**

 

He had been in Brimley’s apartment that night. He should have never gone. He should have left when Brimley brushed his hand along the small of his back when he led him from kitchen to living room. He should have left when Brimley closed the space between them on the couch and placed his hand on Kurt’s thigh. He should have left when Brimley was close enough for Kurt to smell the bourbon on his breath. Then, Brimley suddenly palmed his crotch and whispered, “Does he touch you like this?” Finally, Kurt left.

When Kurt crept into his bedroom that night, he felt dirty. The guilt clenched his gut when he laid eyes on his husband, his Blaine, lying in their bed. Even in sleep, Blaine’s hand was extended onto Kurt’s side of the bed, attempting to hold him even in his absence. Why had he been out with another man when this perfect man was here waiting for him? The shame caked Kurt’s skin like a layer of grime. He needed to get clean. 

Kurt hastily removed his clothes. They smelled of Brimley, smoke and lies. Although, like most of the garments he owned, they were dry clean only, he shoved them to the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper. He could not bear to look at them. Kurt crossed the room quickly and silently, avoiding his reflection in the bathroom mirror, as he entered and turned on the shower. He stepped into the stream of water. It was scalding but not hot enough to wash off the guilt. They had not done anything but Kurt had done enough. He had been lying for months—telling Blaine he was in meetings. And, yes, maybe that is what they were at the beginning, but those “meetings” had become something more. They had become dates. Kurt had allowed another man to flirt with him, to pursue him, to touch him. Worse, he had wanted it. For what? To feel attractive? Desired? 

Kurt had abused Blaine’s trust. Blaine, who found him beautiful, wanted him, desired him so much so that even Blaine’s unconscious self reached out for him. And where was he? Out with another man. He did not deserve Blaine. 

“Kurt? Babe?” Blaine was there, like he always was. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Kurt sniffled, suddenly realizing he had been crying. Kurt bowed his head under the flow of water to mask his tears. 

“No you’re not. You’re crying.” Blaine was standing outside of the shower, his feet cold on the marble floor, the flannel pajama pants Kurt hated loose around his waist, his chest bare, his hair mussed and wild around his concerned face. Kurt, the guilt pressing in on him from all sides, began to collapse into himself from the pressure. His knees gave way and his body rocked forward until his forehead was flush with the tile, his hands catching the wall just in time to stop himself from falling completely. Kurt was slipping, but then Blaine was behind him, his arms firmly around Kurt’s waist, holding him up. Seeing Kurt’s distress, Blaine had pushed open the glass shower door and, without even bothering to remove his pants, stepped in and taken his husband into his arms. Kurt let himself go completely, Blaine supporting all of his weight as Kurt let his body be wracked with sobs. 

“Kurt, you’re scaring me!” Blaine’s breath was coming quickly now. His voice was panicked. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt sobbed.

“For what, Kurt?” Blaine’s confusion and panic increased with each heaving breath Kurt took. 

“For lea-lea-ving. For not be-be-ing here.” Kurt forced the words through the tears. 

“Babe, I understand you have to work. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Blaine tried to rid his voice of fear and fill it with comfort.

“No! You don’t under-st-st-and! I was gone!” Kurt wailed. “I wasn’t here.”

“You’re here now, Kurt.”

“I shouldn’t have left. You, you don’t deserve that. I don’t de-de-serve you.”

“Stop it,” Blaine said firmly as he clutched Kurt tighter, his chest now flush against Kurt’s back. “Don’t talk like that,” he continued soothingly, running one of his hands through Kurt’s soaked hair. “I love you. You’re just stressed out. We are fine.” Blaine could feel Kurt begin to still. “Everything will be fine. The line is almost done.” Blaine leaned Kurt’s head back onto his shoulder and gently kissed his neck. “You need to rest.” Another kiss. “Let’s get you to bed.” Blaine reached for the shower door, but Kurt grabbed his arm.

“No.” Kurt whispered, putting Blaine’s hand back on his body. “Touch me.”

“Kurt, you should rest,” Blaine cautioned.

“Please,” Kurt begged. Kurt needed this. Needed Blaine on him, in him. Kurt needed to erase the guilt and shame with something good, something he knew was right. He needed to come back. Completely.

“Kurt, are you sure?” Kurt nodded adamantly. He reached out behind him and frantically grabbed at Blaine’s soaked pajama pants, trying to pull them from Blaine’s skin. 

“Need you,” Kurt pleaded and he bent forward, forehead and palms against the tile, as Blaine’s pants fell heavy and wet around his ankles. Kurt felt Blaine’s fingers at his entrance and he reached back to slap Blaine’s hand away, and instead grabbed his hips and pulled him forward. 

“But, Kurt—“

Kurt answered with an insistent tug, cutting Blaine off mid-sentence. Yes. Now. He sighed with relief when he felt Blaine slowly acquiesce, making Kurt assure him of his comfort and continued desire with every inch. Desperate, Kurt pushed back against Blaine. Kurt wanted to feel it—now, tomorrow, forever. He had been gone for so long. Now he was back. He wanted to hold on to the feeling as long as possible. Kurt wanted a physical reminder of the love he had and had almost allowed himself to forget. Although Blaine did not know it, he was reminding Kurt with every soft caress, gentle stroke and whispered “I love you.” Blaine held Kurt tightly and they rocked together as the water flowed over their warm bodies. 

Kurt’s tears came again, born from the guilt of knowing that he had allowed Blaine, this man who so clearly and fully loved him—was loving him—had always loved him—to be pushed from his mind, his heart, for even one second. Blaine, feeling Kurt’s renewed tremors, bent forward and placed one hand above Kurt’s head on the tile, steadying himself, while the other gripped firmly on Kurt’s hip. Blaine aligned his chest with Kurt’s back, and assured his lover, “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re here. You’re here.” Those words continued to flow from Blaine’s lips, like a mantra, accompanying each thrust as Kurt pushed back against him, their bodies in sync. Blaine repeated it, and repeated it, and repeated it until both their bodies were overcome with the truth and pleasure of it and the last word to escape their lips was the name of the other.

Spent, they collapsed onto the shower floor and lay entwined in each other until the water ran cold. 

 

*******

 

**Wednesday, March 19, 2031 (Ten days ago)**

 

Kurt was going to end it. Whatever it was. Today. 

“Tiffany,” Kurt called into the speaker, “have Brim—Mr. Johnson meet me in my office for lunch.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Hummel?”

“Tiffany! What have I told you about questioning me?”

“I know, Mr. Hummel, but…it’s just…”

“It’s just what, Tiffany?”

“You’ve been seeing a lot of Mr. Johnson…” she was practically whispering now, “…and I know it’s not my place but…Blai—“ 

“Tiffany!” His voice was harsh. It should not have been. Tiffany was right and it was his fault. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, softer,   
“I know. I’m trying to fix it.” He paused. “Please, just have Mr. Johnson meet me at noon. Okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt fidgeted through his morning meetings. He was so distracted he did not even comment when Phoenix Song smudged pastels on her chair. The Gaggle of Gays had brought it to his attention during their meeting and Kurt just waved it off. Thankfully and unfortunately, Brimley was nothing if not punctual. He came strolling in at exactly 12 o’clock. 

“Can’t even wait for dinner, hmm?” Brimley said, strutting confidently into Kurt’s office and stalking across the room toward him. Kurt rose instinctively and defensively from his seat. 

“Brimley, we need to talk,” Kurt tried.

“We need to do more than talk,” Brimley teased as he closed the distance between them. Kurt found himself retreating until his back was up against the glass of his windows. 

“I’m tired of chasing you,” Brimley whispered into Kurt’s ear, “boosting your ego.” Brimley, only inches separating he and Kurt, placed his lips where Kurt’s jaw met his neck and Kurt closed his eyes and turned away from the sensation. Brimley did it again and that jolted Kurt into action. Kurt pressed his palms against Brimley’s chest and pushed him away. 

“We can’t. I can’t,” Kurt said as forcefully as possible.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Brimley pressed, pushing against Kurt’s hands. 

“I’ll know! So, he’ll know. It will kill him. And that will kill me.”

“Stop fighting this, Kurt. You know you want this.”

“And that’s bad enough!” Kurt nearly yelled as he pushed Brimley away.   
“You have to go. Just get out!” And he went. 

 

****

 

**Saturday, March 29, 2031 (Today)**

 

It had been painful to say, but Kurt knew it had been even more painful for Blaine to hear. 

“He tried to kiss you?” Blaine asked in a measured tone. 

“Yes?”

“Did you want him to?” Blaine always had a way of getting to the truth of the matter and Kurt would not deny him.

“…yes.” 

At this, Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his coffee abandoned and cold. “But you pushed him away?”

“Yes.”

“Is that all?”

Kurt wished it was but it was not and he had done enough lying. “No.” He took a breath. “I invited him to drinks that night to--” 

“Wait. Wednesday night?”

“Yes, but--” Kurt knew what was coming and he knew he deserved it. 

“Let me get this straight.” Blaine took a shuddering breath. “You carried on a…a relationship, with another man for months. That man tried to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him. So you took him to drinks instead of spending the night with your husband and eating the dinner your children made?” Blaine’s voice broke at the mention of their kids and he did not even try to stop the tears as they fell from his eyes. 

“Yes, Blaine. But I needed to know…”

“Know what, Kurt?” Blaine’s voice was hoarse with tears. “What’s there to know except that I love you? That was always enough for me. Why am I never enough for you?”

“It’s not about whether you’re enough,” Kurt pleaded.

“Then what is it Kurt? Please tell me so that I can know. So that the next time you leave, I can understand why.”

“I didn’t leave Blaine. You did!”

“I left because you left!”

“I left because I wanted you to chase me, but you didn’t even notice I was gone!”

“Well, Kurt, forgive me if I was too busy raising our kids to worry about you  
fulfilling your cat and mouse fantasies.”

“Why don’t you ever fight for me, Blaine? Pursue me?”

“Why do you run?” Blaine nearly yelled. There it was—the question that had been hanging in the air for years, finally spoken aloud. 

Silence. 

Suddenly, the rest of the coffee shop rushed into their peripheries reminding them that they were not alone. Kurt pulled himself up to his full height, determined to remain dignified under the scrutinizing gaze of the other customers. Blaine, however, sagged with the weight of the release, his shoulders slumped, and his head cradled in his upturned palms. 

“I shouldn’t have to fight for your love, Kurt,” Blaine muttered into his hands. “You’re my husband…or at least you were.”

“Blaine!” Panic. Pain. Desperation. “No. Wait. Let me finish,” Kurt begged. He reached out for Blaine, but when his hand brushed Blaine’s arm, he flinched. Blaine actually flinched at his touch. 

“I’m tired of fighting.” It was true. There was no fight in Blaine’s voice—only defeat. Kurt heard it and tried again to take hold of Blaine, to keep him there, to keep him in his life. Blaine slowly and gently pulled his arm out of Kurt’s grasp and stood to go. Blaine shrugged on his coat and his whole body sighed. “Let me know when you figure out what you want.” Blaine looked down on Kurt and their eyes met one last time. Kurt realized that even now, even though he had chased light and joy from his lover’s eyes, there was still that look. The look that had been there since the first day at the foot of that staircase. The look that had lived in Blaine’s eyes since Kurt had taken up residence in his soul. But it was flickering. 

What had Kurt done? What would he do? What  _could_  he do but watch as Blaine turned to go. Blaine took a step, paused, and his body seemed to waver with indecision. Then, Blaine whispered, “I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the kids.” And he was gone. He did not look back.   
Kurt sat alone across from Blaine’s empty chair, staring at Blaine’s empty cup, and he feared the next time he looked into Blaine’s eyes, they too would be empty, along with his life.


	5. Number Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins nine years before chapter one.

**_Saturday, August 13, 2022 (Nine years ago)_ **   
  
The best thing about the apartment was the windows—nearly floor to ceiling. It was what had sold Blaine on the place. When they had first gotten the apartment, two years ago, he and Kurt had already been living in New York for seven years and Blaine was beginning to think he would never again wake up to natural, unfettered sunlight beaming in through his window. That concrete square in his freshman dorm room at Weinstein Hall had barely counted and his roommate (where was Kyle these days?) had put his bed right up against the “window.” Blaine could not even look out of it without touching Kyle’s bed, so he never did, because Kyle was nasty and there was no telling what was living in his sheets.    
  
When Blaine was a junior, he had moved into Gramercy Green, one of the upperclassmen residence halls, only to room with Jacob, who it turned out had a curtain fetish--thick, blackout curtains. Blaine always felt like he was getting away with something every night Jacob slept at his girlfriend’s and Blaine opened every single curtain in the place. Blaine would prop himself up by a freshly opened window with his notepad in his lap and stare down at the people, lit by the yellow streetlights, looking for inspiration for his next song.   
  
Blaine had not known how good he had had it with Jacob until his senior year, when Kurt had finally agreed that they should move in together. Kurt had just graduated and it seemed more fiscally responsible for Blaine to put his money toward helping Kurt with rent as opposed to handing more of his cash over to NYU. Plus, he would be living with Kurt. Kurt! Blaine would have done it years ago but Kurt had not wanted them to be overly distracted while in school and finding a place conveniently located between Parsons and NYU would have been astronomically expensive. So they waited, only to end up in what Blaine thought was the saddest apartment in all of New York City. The only thing that made it bearable was the tiny window in the bathroom and Kurt. No, Kurt made it perfect. And it had been perfect, for three years until, it became apparent they needed more space.    
  
Their kitchen had not even had countertops, which had led to a particularly painful and short-lived make-out session, and a valuable lesson: Never celebrate your engagement by lifting your new fiancé onto the stove and proceeding to suck his lips numb. Legs and hips turn nobs…and those turn on burners…and those burn.    
  
Kurt had been lying in what could only be described as a compromising position--face down, bare ass up--which would have been fun if Blaine had not been profusely apologizing and holding an ice pack to Kurt’s singed cheeks.    
  
“We need to move,” Kurt mumbled into the pillow.   
  
“What?”   
  
“If we’re getting married, we need counter space. I don’t mind the burn, but stove tops can not be the cause.”   
  
They had started looking the next day. Naturally, atop their list of must-haves for their new apartment were windows and ample kitchen counters.   
  
So, almost three months later, when the real estate agent opened the door into the foyer of the tenth floor apartment on East 65th, Blaine had trouble maintaining the mildly disinterested expression his mother had taught him was necessary when shopping for a home. He glanced quickly over at Kurt, squeezed his hand, and gave a quick, wide-eyed nod toward the windows in the living room, trusting Kurt could hear his brain screaming, “Windows, Kurt! Look at the glorious windows!” Kurt gave him a quick smirk and then glanced in the kitchen to the right. Blaine felt Kurt squeeze his hand back. The kitchen was beautiful and fully equipped with a gas range, stainless steel refrigerator, a window over the sink, and most importantly, ample counter space. They were sold.    
  
It had happened. They had gotten a real apartment, gotten married, and become adults. It had been just over two years since but Blaine was still overcome with the sheer wonder of it all every morning he awoke to the sun pouring in on him, lighting Kurt’s perfect features.    
  
Blaine loved it when they lay like this, snuggled in bed on a lazy Saturday afternoon, Kurt’s head on his chest, Blaine’s hand in Kurt’s hair. Kurt had finally stopped complaining about Blaine messing up his perfectly coifed hair and accepted that Blaine could not and would not resist digging his fingers into Kurt’s deceptively thick locks. Besides, Kurt had to admit it felt incredible and was at the same time wonderfully intimate and amazingly innocent.    
  
However, days like this were becoming rare. Blaine had scored his second big hit, proving he was not just a one-hit-wonder, and suddenly top artists everywhere were clamoring for the opportunity to work with him. It had barely been two years since Kurt had really broken into the fashion world and he was in the middle of creating the first full line in the Kurt Hummel Collection. Needless to say, they were busy. But today was Saturday and the only thing they planned to be busy with was each other.    
  
“Mmmm” Kurt murmured, rubbing his cheek on Blaine’s chest so that his hair tickled Blaine’s chin.    
  
“Did you enjoy your nap?” Blaine said and kissed the top of Kurt’s head.    
  
“Mmm hmm.” Kurt stretched his arm into the air, yawned, and then brought it down, wrapping it firmly around Blaine’s chest. “I needed it. You were crazy this morning.”   
  
“Crazy about you. I’m glad you enjoyed.”   
  
“Oh, I certainly did. I’m planning on a second helping later.”   
  
“Oooo. What’s gotten into you?”   
  
“Besides you?” Kurt chuckled coyly, suddenly shifting halfway onto Blaine’s chest and resting his chin on his clasped hands so that Blaine had to tuck his chin down to look into Kurt’s eyes, the telltale wrinkles at the corners giving away his smile. “I just figure we should enjoy this while we still can.”   
  
Blaine cocked an eyebrow. “While we still can?”   
  
“Well, soon, we’ll have to watch Saturday morning cartoons and make chocolate chip cookie pancakes instead of rolling around in our bed drizzling each other in chocolate,” Kurt declared matter-of-factly.    
  
Blaine sat up suddenly and Kurt, unprepared, let out a startled squeak. Blaine just stared at Kurt, not allowing himself to believe. Kurt seeing the question in his face nodded and let a broad smile crinkle his eyes. Blaine’s eyes went wide, “You mean it?”   
  
“Yes.” Kurt was nodding even faster now.   
  
“You’re ready?” Blaine asked, looking deep into Kurt’s eyes so as to be sure he was sure.   
  
“We’re ready.” And Kurt found himself being pulled into Blaine’s arms and back down onto the bed. Kurt could not help but smile into Blaine’s neck, as Blaine held him tightly, his laughter vibrating against Kurt’s chest.    
  
“We’ll have to move,” Kurt said softly after a few blissfully silent minutes.    
  
“Of course.”   
  
“Somewhere in the suburbs,” Kurt specified, only breaking their embrace to look into Blaine’s eyes.    
  
“Of course.” Blaine already had the neighborhood picked out.    
  
“We’ll finally have a large kitchen.”   
  
“And a backyard.”   
  
“No pool.”   
  
“Too dangerous,” Blaine agreed and reached out again and hugged Kurt so tightly it was as though he hoped to communicate his elation through his pores.   
  
“Blaine?” Kurt whispered into Blaine’s chest.   
  
“Mmm hmm?”   
  
“We’re going to be parents.” Blaine’s arms tensed around him and Kurt felt Blaine’s nod in the gentle taps of Blaine’s chin against his temple. Moments later, when Blaine began to tremble, Kurt did not need to see Blaine’s face to know he was crying.    
  


***

  


**_**Wednesday, February 8, 2023 (Five months later)** _ **

  
There was so much paper work--too much paper work. Kurt was lost in it, slumped over at the dining room table, hands clutching at his temples, papers strewn about in organized chaos. Blaine, who had foreseen this breakdown about an hour ago, stood behind Kurt with his hands gently working the stress from Kurt’s shoulders. 

 

“It’ll be all right, babe. We knew it would be a lot.”

“I just don’t understand why they need all of this. First it was those damn support group meetings and group orientations as though we couldn’t just Google what we need to know.” 

“They were somewhat helpful…and we did meet DJ and Gilbert, remember?” If Blaine could calm him now, perhaps they could avoid a complete melt down. 

“And now all this damned paper work!” Kurt complained, throwing a sheet into the air.

“Hey, I thought I was the paper-thrower in this family?” Blaine teased as he picked up the paper from the floor. But Kurt was not to be distracted. 

“Health statements and exams! A ‘Child Abuse Clearance Form,’ which I understand the logic of, but really, I need to be fingerprinted and produce a notarized form to prove I haven’t abused children I don’t even have?” Kurt was spiraling. “And income statements, W-4s, paycheck stubs, it’s worse than filling out the FAFSA. Why don’t they just come and look around our new home, and deduce that we don’t need money, we need children to fill this ungodly large house.”

“I know, babe,” Blaine said with another gentle squeeze of Kurt’s shoulder. At this point, Blaine had learned it was best to just let Kurt tire himself out. There was no talking him down. 

“And not only do our friends and family have to deal with our adoption induced neuroticism, they also have to fill out ‘references’ and suffer interrogations by a social worker about the deep dark secrets that you and I no doubt left out of our ‘autobiographical statements,’ which conveniently required us to extol the trials and tribulations of our entire upbringing.” Kurt finally took a breath then turned on Blaine. “Are you even finished with yours?”

“Umm…not yet.”

“Blaine!” Kurt threw up his hands in exasperation. 

“I’m trying, Kurt. It’s just…” Blaine hesitated and turned away. “Why do they need to know the ‘dynamics of my family relationship?’ Why does it matter how I was raised?” His head was bowed. One hand was on his hip. “They can’t learn anything about the type of father I’m going to be by reading about the type of parent my father was.” Blaine spun to face Kurt, a sudden indignant tone in his voice. “I’m different. I’m not going to…I just…Kurt, what if we screw them up?” And just like that, Blaine was deflating. 

“What are you talking about?” Kurt said as he rose and walked toward Blaine. 

“I don’t know.” His head was bowed again and his eyes were clinched tight. “What if we aren’t good enough? What if we’re bad parents?”

Kurt reached out, cupped Blaine’s face with his palm, and lifted Blaine’s chin. “Blaine, we’ll be wonderful.”

Blaine’s brow crinkled with concern. “How can you be sure? We had shitty examples—well, I mean, Burt is amazing—but your mom is gone and well…well, my parents were shit.” 

“Blaine…”

“No, Kurt. Let’s not sugarcoat it. They were shit.” Blaine said simply. “They were never around and when they were they were yelling—yelling at me, yelling at each other, yelling at each other about me. If it weren’t for Coop…” The last was more of an aside to himself, his eyes darting off to the side, remembering. Blaine took a breath and caught Kurt’s eyes once more. “What if I don’t know how?”

“You’ll know,” Kurt assured.

“How do you know?”

“I know, because you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come here.” Kurt took Blaine’s hand and led him back to their dining room table. They sat and Kurt plucked a clean sheet of paper from the pile on the table, and with pen in hand, said, “Tell me the type of father you’ll be.”

“Kurt?” Blaine asked, clearly confused as to what Kurt was doing.

“I’m making a list.” Kurt said it as though it was the most normal thing in the world. “Now, tell me the type of father you’ll be.”

“Well…I never want to fight or yell in front of them.” Kurt should have known this would be first on the list. He would never forget the look on Blaine’s face the first time he had yelled at him in that parking lot so many years ago. 

“Okay, ‘1. We’ll never fight or yell in front of them,’” Kurt spoke out loud as he scribbled on the page. “Check. What else?”

“Umm…I always wanted Mom and Dad to come see me perform…just once, so…” Blaine adjusted his posture, sat up straight, and declared, “I will go to every game, performance, recital, field trip—“

“Blaine, honey, slow down,” Kurt giggled. “I’m trying to write. Plus, I want to go to these things too. And if we’re going to make promises, we should be realistic about them.”

“Promises?”

“Promises. See the title?” Blaine leaned over and read Kurt’s loopy handwriting atop the page: Our Parental Promises. “Do you like the alliteration?”

“I love it,” Blaine smiled. “I love  _you_ .”

“And I love you,” Kurt returned, placing a quick peck on Blaine’s lips before returning to their list. “So, where were we? Ahh, yes, ‘2. We’ll go to every game, performance, field trip, etc. One of us will always be there.’”

Kurt and Blaine went back and forth like that for nearly an hour. In the end, they settled on a list of ten. Their promises ranged. There were practical self-reminders born from scary reality TV shows they had seen, like number seven: “We’ll guide and not push. They get to make their own decisions.” Then there was the promise that came from a deeper, more personal, painful place---the promise Blaine knew his father had made and not kept. Ultimately, the same promise Kurt and Blaine knew would be the easiest to keep. 

_10\. We will love them no matter who they are or who they love. They will know it. We will show it._

With the list complete, Kurt had apparently decided that the rest of the paper work could wait. He sat the pen down, grabbed the list in one hand, and grasped Blaine’s hand with his other. They were up the stairs and Kurt was pushing open the double doors of their bedroom before Blaine could form a sentence.

“Kurt, what are we doing? The papers…” Blaine said, gesturing weakly toward the stairs with his free hand. 

“We’re practicing,” Kurt said, pushing Blaine onto the bed and nipping at his earlobe. 

“Oh!” Blaine moaned. “Not that I’m complaining, but for what exactly are we practicing?”

Kurt climbed playfully atop Blaine and loomed over him. “If we’re going to keep that promise, you’re going to have to learn not to yell when I do this…” And all at once Kurt was palming Blaine through his slacks and sucking fiercely at the meeting of Blaine’s jaw and neck. The noise Blaine emitted made it all too clear that he definitely needed the practice. 

It was hours before they limped, love sore, back down the stairs to sort out the mound of paper work that would hopefully make their dream of becoming parents a reality. The most important document, however, was filed away in the decorative, fireproof box on their nightstand. The only other article inside was their marriage license. It was their box of promises. Promises they would keep. Forever.

 

***

 

_**September, 2023 (seven months later)**  
_   
After all the worrying, cleaning, and redecorating (“Kurt, I don’t think the social worker will read anything untoward in the placement of the chaise.”), their home study had gone off without a hitch. After all, Kurt and Blaine were nothing if not gracious hosts. Even though Kurt had complained about only having had nine months to decorate and furnish their new house, the social worker, Vanessa, had made it a point to comment on the “hominess” of it. They had received their book of potential matches a month later and had spent the entire night shedding tears over the children and their stories. Kurt and Blaine had decided they wanted to adopt from a state agency for precisely this reason—there were so many children who had already endured too much too soon. They deserved loving homes and Kurt and Blaine had one to share. However, actually seeing the little faces was more than they expected. Soon, they would see the children face to face.    
  
It had almost been a year since they had decided they were ready to adopt and Blaine was literally itching with anticipation to finally begin the matching process.    
  
“Blaine, stop that!” Kurt whispered in scandalized tones as he swatted at Blaine’s hand.    
  
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m just so nervous.” Blaine said, still lightly scratching the top of his hand. “What if none of them like us? What if my hair gel offends them? I’m not ready,” Blaine declared and turned to leave. Kurt grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face the entrance of the adoption agency.    
  
“Don’t be silly, they’re going to love you,” Kurt encouraged, giving Blaine a little push.    
  
Finally, sitting in Vanessa’s office, Kurt held Blaine’s hand, half out of affection, half to keep Blaine from scratching his hand raw.    
  
“Are you nervous?” Vanessa asked. She was a lovely woman and had made their home study seem like an afternoon with a friend spent over drinks. In fact, they had spent the afternoon laughing over drinks—tea of course. Kurt and Blaine liked her, and she liked them.    
  
“A little.” Kurt smiled. Blaine just nodded.    
  
“That’s normal. Don’t worry. We’re just going to do a little tour today and I’ll point out the little ones from your match book.” Vanessa had a cheery disposition that made people want to believe everything she said.    
  
“Can…can we talk to them?” Blaine asked hesitantly.   
  
“Of course! They like people…they don’t get many visitors.” Vanessa paused. “Plus, your little ones are actually little. You saying ‘hi’ won’t be a problem. They’ll just gurgle and smile.” Blaine let out what sounded like a delighted gurgle of his own and they all laughed. “Ready?”   
  
“Yes,” Kurt answered. He and Blaine stood and followed Vanessa out of the office.    
  
First, they met a precocious two-year-old named Jonathan. Little Johnny had taken a liking to Blaine’s hair and grabbed a chunk—hard. Kurt cackled and Blaine gave Jonathan a teary-eyed grin as he sat Jonathan back down. Blaine had decided he would not pick up anymore of the children.    
  
Gina was banging her rattle like it had done something to offend her, so Kurt and Blaine smiled indulgently but gave her a wide berth.    
  
After the third, all the cute, bouncing, crying, sleeping, little ones started to look the same. Yes, they were all undeniably precious and Blaine had found something to love about all of them, but none of them called out to them in the way Kurt thought they should. Kurt had never been and would never be a mother, and he only had grainy memories of his own. But he did remember the way she looked at him—the way his tummy would flip when she held him. Kurt always believed she felt it too. He wanted to feel that when he held his child.    
  
Vanessa had introduced them to all of their potential matches and they were headed back to the office to discuss next steps when Kurt realized Blaine was not beside him.    
  
“Blaine?” He said, looking around.    
  
“What’s her name?” Blaine whispered. He was off in a corner, standing beside a small crib. A baby girl, no older than two months, clad in a pink-footed onesie, lay on her side. Kurt could not see her face, but he could see her head of wild, dark curls that reminded him immediately of Blaine. Kurt smiled.    
  
“Oh…Baby Doe…I hadn’t thought of her.” Vanessa said quietly. She was biting her bottom lip. She seemed worried.    
  
“Baby Doe?” Kurt asked, turning away from Blaine and the crib to face Vanessa.    
  
“Oh, umm, that’s what we call the babies who haven’t been named.” Vanessa would not look Kurt in the eyes. There was something more she was not telling them. As Blaine was still staring longingly into the crib, Kurt had to be the one to ask.    
  
“Why hasn’t she been named?”   
  
“Well, she was never supposed to come here. Hers was a private adoption but…but it fell through…so she came here.” The last part was hurried. Vanessa was uncomfortable, but Kurt pressed on.    
  
“Well, what about her birth parents? Why haven’t they named her?”   
  
“The mother. It’s just the mother. She was…umm…” Vanessa glanced over at Blaine and Kurt followed her eyes. Blaine had taken Baby Doe from the crib and was cradling her in his arms, humming softly. “I shouldn’t be telling you all of this but…”   
  
“But?” Kurt pressed.    
  
“Her mother was assaulted…” Vanessa breathed.    
  
“Oh…” It was barely audible. Kurt was not sure he had managed to make a noise at all. Apparently he had because Vanessa continued.    
  
“She had never planned to keep her…or name her. Her adoptive parents were supposed to take her from the hospital, but when they found out—she hadn’t told them—well…they didn’t want her anymore.”    
  
“No,” Kurt muttered in disbelief.    
  
“Yeah, so you can imagine it’s been really hard on the mother. She’s only visited once…I think it hurts her too much. Ya know?” Kurt just nodded and Vanessa continued, letting it all come out now that she had opened the door. “She loves her, but doesn’t want to get attached. I think that’s ultimately why she hasn’t named her.”    
  
“Kurt.” Blaine’s hoarse whisper drew Kurt’s attention. “Kurt. You have to hold her.” Blaine had not taken his eyes from the infant’s face. Kurt could see that Blaine had that look on his face. The look. Kurt took a few hesitant steps. “Kurt, please.” Blaine beckoned. And then he was beside Blaine and looking down at the chubbiest cheeks he had ever seen. That would have been enough to melt his heart but then there were her eyes—large, brown, deep, and emotive. Looking at her, her fresh, olive skin, her unruly curls--she could have been theirs. She could be theirs. Then suddenly, she was in his arms.    
  
“Vanessa, she’s perfect!” Blaine exclaimed in a whisper. “Can you please send our home study to her case worker?”   
  
“Certainly, Blaine. But you should know, since she’s so young, there is…how should I say this…high demand. We’ve already sent off quite a few. So…it’s not guaranteed.”   
  
“I know. We know,” Blaine nodded frantically.   
  
“And the birth mother…well…she’s been a bit unresponsive. It could be a while before she makes a decision,” Vanessa cautioned.   
  
“Sure, sure. But we have to try. Right, Kurt?” Blaine turned to find Kurt smoothing his vest, Baby Doe back in her crib. Kurt gave him one quick nod. But, Blaine was not to be deterred. He would not allow Kurt’s lack of enthusiasm to damper his hopes. Blaine turned to Vanessa. “So, you’ll send it?”   
  
“Yes, Blaine. I’ll send it.”   
  
“Today?”   
  
“Today,” Vanessa nodded, a wary smile on her lips.   
  
“Come on, Blaine.” Kurt touched Blaine’s shoulder and guided him gently toward the door and away from the crib.   
  
In the car, Blaine would not stop talking about Baby Doe. His head was leaned against the passenger side window, his face fixed in a smile fit only for teenagers glowing with the delight of a first love. “She was so warm, and soft, and sweet, Kurt.”   
  
“Mmm hmm.” Kurt’s eyes did not leave the road.    
  
“I sang to her, Kurt, and I swear she smiled at me.”    
  
“I’m sure.” Kurt chuckled. It was the first hint of a smile since they had left the agency.    
  
“Kurt, you held her, right?” Blaine had finally pulled his love drunk gaze from the window and was now directing it at Kurt.    
  
“Yes, Blaine. I held her.” Blaine did not let Kurt’s exasperated sigh deter him.   
  
“Aaaand?” Blaine implored.    
  
“And what, Blaine?” Kurt sounded slightly annoyed.    
  
“And wasn’t she perfect?”   
  
“She was fine, Blaine. But, we need to keep in mind that there are other kids out there. Other kids we still have to visit next week.”   
  
“Fine? Fine!” Blaine was clearly outraged. “She was perfect, Kurt. She’s perfect.” Kurt could have sworn Blaine literally “humphed” as he crossed his arms and turned his body once more toward the window.    
  
“Blaine, I just don’t think you should get your hopes up.”    
  
“Yeah, yeah. I just think I’m the only one hoping,” Blaine muttered. They were silent the rest of the way home.    
  
~   
  
The following week, Blaine accompanied Kurt to another agency. Vanessa led their tour, pointing out the other potential children whose profiles she had compiled in their match book. Blaine smiled warmly at them, ruffled their hair and pinched their cheeks, but his heart was not in it. His heart was in a crib on the other side of town, without a name and without a home. So, when they returned home, Blaine told Kurt he was going to the gym, and he went to visit his heart instead.    
  
“Mr. Anderson-Hummel?” The front desk worker seemed to recognize him. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought.    
  
“Hi! Julie, right?” Blaine said, flashing his most charming smile.    
  
“Ye-yes, sir,” Julie blushed. Blaine had never understood why women who obviously knew he was as gay as a Christmas tree wrapped in rainbows and sprinkled with sparkles became all stuttery around him, but he was not going to question it now.    
  
“Call me Blaine.” He winked. He was laying it on pretty thick, but he felt he had a good reason.   
  
“Umm, okay.” She was positively beaming now. “How can I help you, Blaine?”   
  
“I was wondering if I could pay a visit to Baby Doe.”   
  
“Oh, Mr. Anderson—“   
  
“Blaine, Julie. Blaine.”   
  
“Sorry, Blaine. I’m sorry but you need to have an appointment.”   
  
“Really? I didn’t know.” Yes, he did. “I just wanted to come see her. She must be so lonely. I can’t bear the thought of her in that crib all by herself. No one to sing to her.” That was true.    
  
“Aww, Blaine.” He was almost there.    
  
“Can I please just see her for a minute?” He flashed his puppy dog eyes and brought his hands together as if in prayer. “Just to sing one song?”   
  
“One song?” Julie asked, glancing around nervously.    
  
“One song.”   
  
“Oh, okay. But make it quick.”   
  
“Thank you!” Blaine nearly jumped on the spot, but instead he grabbed Julie’s hands and kissed them. He left her swooning in her seat and he scurried off to find his heart.    
  
That is how Blaine Anderson came to spend his weekday lunch breaks and Sunday afternoons sitting in a rocking chair, beside an empty crib, cradling a baby in his arms. 

 

***  
  
 **** _ **Sunday, December 24, 2023 (two months later)**  
_

It was turning into a long winter. Kurt and Blaine had chosen to send their home study out to seven caseworkers. Well, Kurt had chosen seven. Blaine had chosen one and only one. Regardless, they had not heard any positive news.   
  
“These things take time.” Vanessa had tried to advise, but Kurt and Blaine were inconsolable. Kurt, because he was sure this meant no one thought they were suitable parents and they would die as old cat men buried under a pile of kitty litter. Blaine, because his heart was slipping away and he could feel it breaking. The stress was taking its toll. They were arguing, and they never argued. A little bickering here and there, sure. What married couple did not? But yelling was something Blaine and Kurt did not do. Until now.   
  
They were in the kitchen. They had been cleaning up after dinner when it had started. Blaine had been putting a plate into the dishwasher when he casually mused, “I wonder if she’ll get any Christmas presents?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“To—Baby Doe.”  
  
“Blaine, you have to stop this.” Kurt exhaled, his exasperation obvious.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re fixating. It’s not healthy.”  
  
“Kurt, it’s fine.” Blaine rolled his eyes.   
  
“No. It’s not. What happens when we finally get a child and it’s not her?”  
  
“It will be.”  
  
“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Blaine. You can’t go around pretending that she’s already yours. It’s foolish. You need to be open to other options.”  
  
And the frustration and anxiety that had been building in Blaine for months erupted. “Stop telling me to ‘be open to other options!’” He probably should not have done a high-pitch imitation of Kurt…and those air quotes were definitely going to get him into trouble. “Because, if you haven’t noticed, it’s not like anyone else is banging down our door and saying, ‘Here, take our kid.’”  
  
“You wouldn’t care if they did!” Kurt yelled back, slamming a dish onto the counter. “I’m glad no one  _has_  come calling because if they did all they’d see were your goo-goo eyes for some other kid!”  
  
“That’s it.” Blaine threw his hands up in frustrated surrender. “I’m leaving.”  
  
“Blaine, don’t. It’s Christmas Eve.”  
  
“I know what day it is, Kurt. How about you just pretend I’m going to get you another gift, and I’ll pretend that any other kid is going to do. Hell, why don’t I just wrap that lie up and we’ll call it a present too?”  
  
He should not have stormed out. He regretted it immediately--he always did. Still, he did not know how he had gotten there. He was just going to drive around the block a few times to cool off, but his subconscious had led him, again, to the parking lot of the agency. Blaine tightened his scarf around his neck, grabbed the gift he had hurriedly stopped off to get (okay, maybe it had not been so subconscious) and got out of the car. With his head down to evade the cold, he walked briskly to the door.   
  
“Blaine!” Julie nearly screamed in surprise when he walked through the door. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Hi, Julie. I’m just here to see Doe.”  
  
“Umm, yes. I figured. But why now?” She looked nervous, and for once it seemed her straight-girl crush on Blaine was not the cause.   
  
Blaine dangled the bag in his hand. “I wanted her to have a Christmas present. Why? Is there a problem?”  
  
“No. Not at all. Umm…you’ll see.” Julie smiled. “Go on in, Blaine.”  
  
It was late, the corridors were lit by night lights and most of the kids were asleep, but Blaine had walked these halls so many times he could do it with his eyes closed. Blaine tiptoed down the hall and then pushed open the door to the room that held the crib that held his heart. There, in the distant, darkened corner, was something for which he could never have been prepared.   
  
“Kurt?” he gasped.   
  
“Blaine?”  
  
Kurt was seated in the rocking chair that Blaine had occupied nearly every weekend for the past two months. What is more, he was cradling a curly haired infant in his arms.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Blaine whispered across the room, shock gluing him to the spot.   
  
“What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Kurt whispered, eyes wild.   
  
“I was coming to see her. I wanted her to have a Christmas…so I got a present,” Blaine said, shrugging and weakly dangling the gift again. “I’ve confessed. Now it’s your turn.”  
  
“You’re going to judge me.” Kurt diverted his eyes.  
  
“Kurt, I’m a grown man, standing in an adoption agency at 10pm on Christmas Eve, carrying a stuffed animal in a decorative bag. I’m in no position to judge.”   
  
Kurt hung his head and chuckled in response. “You were right,” he mumbled.   
  
“What was that?” Blaine asked honestly, crossing the room to Kurt and setting the bag down next to the crib before he dropped to his knees at Kurt’s side.   
  
“I said, you were right,” Kurt said a little stronger, looking down to meet Blaine’s eyes. “She’s ours.”  
  
“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice nearly broke as he reached out to caress Kurt’s arm—the one where her perfect, curly head was cradled.   
  
“I knew it that first day.” Kurt’s voice quavered. “I saw it when you looked at her. But I wouldn’t let myself admit it.”   
  
“Why not, Kurt?”   
  
“Because I felt it, Blaine. When I held her. I felt it: that feeling in my stomach. That feeling I got when my mom held me. That feeling you’re supposed to have when you hold your child. And it scared me, Blaine—how much I wanted her.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“No you don’t.” Even in the semi-darkness, Blaine could see the tears begin to slide down the still smooth slope of Kurt’s porcelain cheeks. “I’ve always wanted so much, so hard. And I’m not that guy, Blaine. I’ve never been that guy that gets what he wants. For some reason or another it just never works out. And I just couldn’t. I couldn’t open myself up again just to get hurt. But I did. I came back.”  
  
“So did I,” Blaine soothed, gently stroking Kurt’s thigh and fighting back tears of his own.  
  
“I’ve been coming back, just sitting here, holding her, pretending she’s ours. And every time I have to leave it hurts that much more because I’m terrified it’ll be the last time.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I can’t lose her, Blaine. The only other thing I’ve ever wanted this badly was you.”  
  
“And you have me. And we’ll have her. Because she’s ours.”  
  
“She’s ours,” Kurt agreed, intertwining the fingers of his free hand with Blaine’s in the manner that had become customary of their vows.  
  
“You know, Kurt. It’s Christmas Eve.” Blaine smiled through his tears.  
  
“Indeed I do. I think I was just reminding you of that not two hours ago.” They laughed.   
  
“Fair enough. But you know what that means? We each have to open one gift. It’s a family tradition.”  
  
“But, you’re the only one with a gift.”  
  
“No I’m not. You’re holding ours.” Blaine leaned down and kissed her forehead.  
  
“True. So, we have our gift, and you have a gift for her. I’m still empty handed, Blaine.”  
  
“Hmm, I’m sure we can think of something.”  
  
“Wait,” Kurt interjected, “can we name her?”  
  
“Umm...I’ve kind of already did, but I’m sure your name would be a better gift.”  
  
“What have you been calling her?”  
  
“Tori.” Blaine blushed.   
  
“Is that short for Toronto?”  
  
Blaine nodded.  
  
“You remembered?”  
  
“Of course I did. It’s not every day your high school sweetheart lets slip what he wants to name your first child.”  
  
“I love you, Blaine. And I love Tori.”  
  
“I love you both. I love our family.”  
  
A moment like that deserved silence, and they observed it, Kurt rocking their little girl in his arms, Blaine kneeling beside them as if in prayer.   
  
“Well,” Kurt finally breathed, “it’s getting late. We should go.”  
  
“But I haven’t held her yet,” Blaine begged. “And, besides, we owe her a song.”  
  
“You’re right, but,  _I really can’t stay,_ ” Kurt sang in his soft soprano.   
  
“ _But baby it’s cold outside_ ,” Blaine chimed, not missing a beat.  
  
Kurt stood, “ _I’ve got to go away_ .”  
  
“But baby it’s cold outside,”Blaine crooned as he caressed Tori’s cheek, still cradled in Kurt’s arms.   
  
“ _This evening has been_ …”  
  
“ _Been hoping that you’d drop in_ .”  
  
“… _so very nice _.”  
  
“ _I’ll hold your hands_ ,” Blaine sang as Kurt carefully transferred Tori to his sure and steady arms, “ _they’re just like ice._ ”  
  
Kurt, Blaine and Tori danced together in the soft light of the moon and the golden beams seeping in through the open door. Kurt swayed and Blaine even twirled as they shared the duet from their past with what they hoped would be their future. They were so caught up in the nostalgia that they had not noticed the woman standing all that time in the shadow of the doorway.   
  
“Oh!” Kurt jumped at the sight of her. “Oh my god, we’re sorry. Were we too loud? Oh god, we were too loud. We’re so sorry, we’ll just go,” Kurt rushed in one breath, hurriedly reaching for his coat, draped on the back of the rocking chair.   
  
“No,” she whispered, raising a shaky hand. “Stay. It was beautiful. I think she liked it.”   
  
“Oh...well...umm...thank you. But we really should be going. Again, we are so sorry, please don’t hold this against us,” Kurt apologized again and then turned to Blaine who was gently laying Tori back into her crib. “Honey, give Tori her present, so we can get out of this nice lady’s hair before she has us rightly arrested.”  
  
“What did you call her?” The woman’s voice barely carried across the room, but Blaine heard her curiosity and was relieved it was not outrage.   
  
“Umm...Tori,” Blaine offered, placing the large red bear in the corner of Tori’s crib before gently rubbing her belly.  
  
“It’s short for Toronto,” Kurt included. He could not help himself.   
  
“You named her?” Her curiosity was replaced with disbelief.  
  
“Well, it’s not official of course,” Kurt hurried on, “but yes.” Then, realizing what he had said, his panic forced him to add, “Oh, I hope that’s not a problem. Should we not have done that?”  
  
“No...no, it’s fine.” Her voice had a far away quality, as though too confused to come any closer. “What are  _your_  names?”   
  
“Oh god, please don’t report us,” Kurt said through his own fingers, now clasped over his mouth. “Blaine she’s going to report us! We’ll never be parents.”  
  
“Kurt, it’s fine,” Blaine said, resting his hand on Kurt’s lower back. “If anyone here was going to report us they would have done it weeks ago.” Blaine crossed the room and extended his hand to the woman at the door. “Well, you’ve already heard our names,” he said, glancing back at Kurt and giving him a rueful smile, “but allow me to properly introduce myself. Hi, my name is Blaine. This flailing mess,” he gestured in Kurt’s direction, “is my husband Kurt. He’s actually quite delightful when he’s not panicking.”  
  
“Blaine,” she seemed to be rolling the name around in her mouth, familiarizing herself with it. “And...Kurt?” she said, leaning around Blaine to get a glimpse of Kurt still standing awkwardly by the corner crib.   
  
“Yes.” Blaine nodded. “He really is harmless, I swear. He just thinks we’re in trouble. Are we in trouble?”  
  
“Oh no, I’m nobody. Don’t worry about me,” she blushed and looked away, trying to hide her face.   
  
“Well, okay Nobody. If you’re Nobody, can we be nobody too?” She nodded and laughed a soft, airy laugh that let Blaine know there was nothing to fear. “Thank you so much,” he said, reaching out to take one of her hands in both of his. “We’ll get out of your hair now. I’m sure you’re ready to close down this fort. You don’t need a couple of singing and dancing fools running around.”  
  
“Oh no, I --”   
  
“We really are sorry.” Kurt had apparently gotten his wits about him and had made his way to Blaine’s side.  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” she said seriously, looking directly into Kurt’s eyes. That finally seemed to calm him. They all stood there in the now comfortable silence until Blaine finally spoke.   
  
“Well, thank you again,  _Nobody _.” Blaine winked at her and then, with one final look back at Tori’s crib, he again placed his hand on Kurt’s lower back and the two walked from the room, down the hall, toward home.  
  
~  
  
Blaine awoke the next morning to Kurt’s screams.   
  
“Blaine!”  _Kurt?_ Blaine thought, rolling over onto his back, Kurt’s voice drifting into his subconscious and unfortunately, soon to be conscious, mind.  
  
“Oh my god, Blaine!”  _Why is he screaming? Oh god, is he hurt?_ Blaine sat bolt upright in bed, eyes still closed.   
  
“Blaine! Wake up!”  _Okay, definitely not hurt _. Blaine collapsed backward. _Just excited. He’s so cute on Christmas. _Blaine shoved his palms into his eyes, attempting to push away sleep. “Blaaaiiine!” _Shit, how did he get to the stairs so fast? If he finds me still in bed..._  
  
“I’m up, I’m up...” Blaine mumbled groggily, lifting himself up on his elbows and opening his eyes just in time to see Kurt taking a running leap onto the bed. “What the--umph!” Kurt pounced.   
  
“Oh my god, Blaine! Wake up! Wake up!”   
  
“Babe, I’m up,” Blaine smiled, considering it was impossible for him to still be asleep with Kurt jumping up and down on the bed. “What’s happening?”  
  
“She’s ours, Blaine! She’s ours!” Kurt wailed, waving his cell phone frantically in the air.   
  
“What?” Blaine was definitely awake now. “What are you talking about?” But it was not Kurt who answered. Another, even higher pitched voice (which was an achievement when Kurt was this excited) was bellowing from the phone.   
  
“I don’t know what happened!” The voice was yelling. “Months of nothing and then out of the blue she called late last night and left a message, and oh Kurt, I’m just so happy for you both!”  
  
“Vanessa?” Blaine’s voice was still gruff with sleep.   
  
“Blaine! You’re awake! Congratulations!”  
  
“Is this...is this real?” Blaine’s eyes were wide, but cautious, trying to lock onto the phone, which was quite difficult considering it was clasped in one of Kurt’s flailing hands.  
  
“Yes!” Kurt and Vanessa screamed together.   
  
“But...but how?” Blaine sat shell shocked, his frozen body jostled by Kurt’s bed jumping.   
  
“I don’t know. We don’t know,” Vanessa said. “She just said she wanted it to be Kurt and Blaine.”   
  
“So, she’s really ours?” Blaine said, comprehension finally dawning.   
  
“Yes. She’s really yours.” They could hear her smile. “Merry Christmas you two. Now go celebrate!”  
  
“Thank you, Vanessa,” said Kurt. “We couldn’t have gotten through all of this without you.”  
  
“It was my pleasure. Oh, one last thing.”  
  
“Anything for you,” declared Kurt.   
  
“She said, ‘Give Tori my love.’ I guess she named her after all.”________

 

***

_**Sunday, March 30, 2031 (Present: The next day)**   
_   
Blaine would never forget that Christmas, that moment. The moment his dream became a reality. He had a family. A real family. Yes, he and Kurt had long been a pair -- a package deal. But Blaine had always believed that two made a couple and three made a family. From the moment Blaine had realized Kurt was his forever, he knew he wanted a family -- with Kurt. Now, he had one.    
  
Kurt always argued that it had been his impeccable falsetto that had won Tori’s birth mother’s approval. Blaine, however, was sure it was his dapper charm. Both always joked that every fight and resulting storm out should turn out like that.    
  
_If that fight created our family, this one is destroying it_ , Blaine thought as he drove toward what used to be his home to pick up his children. They had not spoken since Blaine had walked out of the coffee shop yesterday. That turned out to be what hurt the most -- not talking to Kurt. Above all, Kurt and Blaine were friends. Best friends. Kurt had always been the person Blaine turned to share his hopes, his sadness, his pain. Now, with Kurt causing the pain, the sadness, Blaine was hopeless.    
  
So, even though the words they shared would probably be strained and only graze the surface of their years of friendship, laughter and love, Blaine could not stop the butterflies that rose in his stomach at the mere thought of hearing Kurt’s voice. Maybe, in it, Blaine would hear the hope he desperately needed.    
  
Blaine drove through the gates, gave Jim a cursory wave, and a few minutes later pulled into his driveway alongside an unfamiliar Lexus. He had not given it a second thought. Kurt’s higher-level employees were constantly visiting on the weekends. Blaine was still a bit embarrassed about that time he had woken up to screams coming from downstairs, and had run down in his underwear carrying a bat, no less, only to find Kurt yelling at Phoenix Song for staining the couch. Blaine had been mortified, but Phoenix Song had thanked him profusely because Kurt had been too busy cackling at and cooing over Blaine’s adorable yet misguided attempt to defend their home to be upset with her.    
  
Blaine chuckled at the memory and pushed open the door. It only took three steps into his home for Blaine to realize it was no longer his. Blaine stood in the foyer, unable to cross the threshold into the living room, for in that room sat Brimley Johnson.   
  
Brimley was sitting on the couch Blaine and Kurt had picked out together because it matched the drapes Kurt had loved. Brimley was sitting where Blaine and Kurt had initiated countless intimate moments that had culminated in their bedroom. Brimley was sitting in the spot Blaine sat in for the past six Christmases as he watched his children open their Christmas presents. Brimley was sitting on his couch, with Tori on his knee and Bertie in the car seat at his feet. Brimley was sitting with Blaine’s children. His children.    
  
Blaine could not move. He could not speak. He could only stare.   
  
It was as if Blaine had awoken from a dream to find that none of it had been real - this was not his family, this was not his home. He had only been granted the privilege of briefly living another man’s life and now it was over. Blaine felt he was intruding on someone else’s life--the life he wanted. The life he thought he had.    
  
“You need to go.” Blaine heard Kurt calling from the direction of the staircase, but he could not bring himself to move. The tremor in his left hand was the only thing distinguishing him from a statue, a mere decoration in this home...perhaps that is what he had always been. “He’ll be here any second.”    
  
“He’s here,” Blaine muttered.   
  
Kurt had apparently reached the bottom of the steps and surmised as much for himself. The sound of Blaine’s voice set off multiple, simultaneous reactions. Kurt stopped dead at the foot of the stairs. Brimley stood abruptly and Tori slid from his knee to unsteady feet. Regaining her balance, Tori turned and, seeing Blaine, ran to him.    
  
“Daddy!” she yelled. Tori’s small frame was the only thing in motion. As though one false move would trigger a mine, all three men stood stock still, triangulated, wondering who would fire first and who would be the first casualty. Tori reached her father and wrapped her small arms around his waist. Blaine could not return her hug.    
  
“Go get your coat,” Blaine barely whispered to his daughter. Tori hesitated for a moment, her chin upturned and her eyes questioning him, as though she could not understand why Daddy did not seem happy to see her. However, she could not see his eyes to read his expression because Blaine’s eyes were locked on Kurt. Tori reluctantly let go of her father and walked toward the stairs, giving him one last confused glance as she passed her Papa and ascended the stairs.    
  
With Tori safely out of earshot, and Bertie seemingly asleep in his car seat, Blaine finally spoke, but it was just above a whisper. “What is he doing here?”   
  
“Blaine,” Kurt breathed. It was not just Blaine’s name, but a plea, a vain request for Blaine to remain calm.    
  
“What is he doing in our  _house_ ? With our  _children_ ?” Blaine’s breathing was labored and his words came out hoarse and heavy.    
  
“Look, Blaine, I just came over to--” Brimley tried, taking a few steps toward Blaine.   
  
“Shut up, Liberty Medical.” With eyes still on Kurt, Blaine’s right hand snapped upward, palm facing Brimley, his gesture reiterating his words. “Kurt?” Blaine lifted an eyebrow, pressing for an answer.   
  
“Blaine, he only came over to discuss some final details and pick up some papers.” Kurt’s voice was soft, cautious.    
  
Blaine’s eyes closed as he dropped his head and brought his hand to his mouth. He chose his next words very carefully. “So, you had to work out final details...and exchange papers...and this  _had_  to happen in our home? With our  _kids_ ?  _Today_ ?”   
  
“Blaine, please, I know what you’re thinking and--”   
  
“No you don’t, Kurt. Because if you knew what I was thinking, then you would have thought! You know what he is. You know what he wants. And you  _still_  let him near you? Near our  _children_ ?”   
  
“Blaine, I--” Brimley began.    
  
“Fuck you!” Blaine blurted, turning and striding into the living room toward Brimley, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “One more word and I will--”    
  
“Blaine, don’t!” Kurt belted, finally dislodging himself from the foot of the stairs and running toward Blaine.    
  
“Daddy?”    
  
Everyone stopped.    
  
Brimley kept a fearful eye on Blaine, but Blaine and Kurt’s heads snapped toward their daughter’s distressed voice. Tori was standing halfway down the stairs, her purple coat in her hands. “Why are you yelling at Uncle Brimley?”   
  
Blaine stumbled backward with the force of it, the word tumbling from his throat coated in disbelief, “Uncle?” Blaine looked at Kurt who was looking at Brimley. Blaine’s jaw began to tremble and he shook his head in short, quick movements as though he was seizing. “ _Uncle_ Brimley?” Blaine threw his shaking hands into the air. “No,” Blaine seemed to laugh. “No. No. No.”    
  
Kurt was saying something but Blaine could not hear, did not want to hear.    
  
“Tori let’s go,” Blaine said, bending down and grabbing the handle of Bertie’s car seat.   
  
“But Daddy...” Tori began to protest.   
  
“Tori, we are leaving.” The harshness of his tone pushed Tori’s head down and shuffled her feet forward in defeated obedience. Blaine had her hand in a too-tight grip and they were feet from the door before Kurt’s voice finally broke through.    
  
“Damnit, Blaine! Please!” Kurt was crying. “Not like this! We made promises!”   
  
Blaine stopped but did not turn. “Yeah, we made promises,” he whispered at the door. “And you broke them.” Blaine’s voice succumbed under the tears he had been determined not to shed. “Number four, Kurt. Number four.”   
  
Blaine dropped Tori’s hand only for the second it took to open the door. They stepped across the threshold and Blaine walked purposefully toward their car with Bertie bobbing peacefully in the car seat in his left hand and Tori’s short legs struggling to keep up on his right. Kurt was a few steps behind them, but Blaine ignored his pleas.    
  
“Blaine, please don’t leave,” Kurt said, reaching out for Blaine’s shoulder as Blaine bent to secure Bertie in the backseat. Blaine shrugged him off.    
  
“Hug your Papa goodbye, sweetie, and get in the backseat,” Blaine said to Tori, trying to control his tone.   
  
“Can I sit in the front with you?” Tori asked.   
  
“No.” Again he was too harsh. She looked stung. This was not her fault. None of this was her fault. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just need you to keep an eye on Bertie in the backseat. Can you do that for me, please?”   
  
“Yes, Daddy,” Tori whispered. She hugged Kurt.   
  
“Have a good time with Daddy, angel,” Kurt said, trying his best for normal in this moment.    
  
“I will,” Tori said, but she did not seem to believe it as she walked around the car and got into the backseat.    
  
“Blaine,” Kurt attempted again. “We need to talk about this. It can’t end this way.”   
  
“It already has,” Blaine said, opening the driver’s side door. “It’s over, Kurt.” Blaine said it so simply, so impassioned that Blaine had already closed the door, started the car, and began exiting the driveway before the gravity of his words fells around Kurt.    
  
“No,” Kurt uttered, his legs carrying him after the departing car. Kurt was down the driveway and into the street before he realized he was running. “No! Blaine, please!” He was yelling but Blaine could not hear him. Even if he did, Kurt was sure it would change nothing.    
  
Blaine drove in silence, stealing glances at Tori in the rear view mirror every few seconds.    
  
“Daddy?” Tori’s voice was shaking. “Are you okay?”   
  
“Yes, sweetie. Daddy’s fine.” Blaine hated lying to her.   
  
“Is Papa okay?”   
  
Blaine did not answer. He could not answer.    
  
“Why are you crying?” Now she was too.   
  
“Daddy is sad.”   
  
“Did Uncle Brimley make Daddy sad? Is that why you were yelling?” Tori’s little voice was shaking and Blaine could only nod.    
  
“Tori, sweetie?” Blaine swallowed.   
  
“Yes, Daddy?” Her shining eyes met his reflection.   
  
“Can you...would you...please not call him that? Not call him ‘uncle?’”   
  
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t anymore.”   
  
“Thank you, sweetie,” Blaine said, forcing a smile. Tori nodded.    
  
~   
  
Kurt ran back up the driveway and into their home. Brimley had apparently gotten the hint and left. Kurt raced up the stairs, into their bedroom, and retrieved their list of promises from the box on their nightstand.    
  
Number four.    
  
Kurt grabbed his phone and began frantically dialing. Kurt had to talk to Blaine. He had to fix this. Blaine had to answer.    
  
~   
  
_Don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back_ .   
  
“Daddy, your phone is ringing,” Tori called from the backseat.    
  
Blaine did not respond.  _My heart stops when you look at me._   
  
“Daddy?” Tori tried again. “The phone is ringing.”   
  
“I know, sweetie.”  _Just one touch, now baby I believe._   
  
“Are you going to answer it?”   
  
Blaine shook his head, dislodging more tears from his empty, hazel eyes.   
  
_This is real, let’s run away and don’t ever look back._   
  
~   
  
Kurt sat, doubled over, on the edge of their bed, the silent phone forgotten at his side. In his lap lay the list of promises they had made and Blaine now believed he--Kurt--had broken.   
  
One of Kurt’s tears landed on the parchment, right next to number four.    
  
_4\. Our children will never doubt that the only people we love more than each other is them._   
  
Kurt sat there alone, in the dark, losing hope. If Blaine thought him capable of that, then it really was over.


	6. There's More

_**Friday, October 26th, 2012 (Past: Nineteen years ago)**  
_  
“He still won’t answer.” Blaine was distraught; his head rested despondently against his locker, his conspicuously silent cell phone clutched in his hand dangling defeated at his side.   
  
“Maybe he’s busy,” Tina offered, reaching out to give Blaine a friendly pat on the shoulder. She had always been the optimistic type.  
  
“For four days, Tina?  _Four_  days?” Blaine wanted to believe Tina was right, that Kurt was just busy, but even he, who tirelessly looked for the bright side, had begun running out of plausible, worriless explanations after Kurt’s 52nd hour of silence.   
  
“College is rough, hun. I don’t get a chance to talk to Mike every day,” Tina explained, locking arms with Blaine as she led him from his locker and toward class. “Kurt’ll call soon. He probably just doesn’t have the time.”  
  
“He found the time to call Burt,” Blaine muttered.   
  
“That’s his dad, it’s diff—“  
  
“And Finn,” Blaine interrupted.  
  
“That’s his broth—“  
  
“And Mercedes,” Blaine sighed.   
  
“Oh,” Tina whispered, darting her eyes, clearly searching for something to make this okay…or at least less awkward.   
  
Blaine hated pouting, but Tina was one of the few people he could talk to about this. She might have been the only one who really understood, what with Mike away in New York at The Ailey School. Blaine was separated from a piece of himself and Tina knew how that felt. It was not just an emotional pain—it was physical. The ache radiated out from the open wound of want in his gut, throbbing out a steady, incessant beat, a reminder of the distance, a distance he feared was growing.   
Relationships, after all, were simply an agreement that each day two individuals would choose to be one. Blaine feared Kurt had awoken to another choice and there was nothing Blaine could do but wait. Fear had compounded the pain. Even still, Blaine did not want to be a burden.  
  
“It’s okay, Tina,” Blaine muttered, unable to mask the defeat in his voice. “I’m sorry I’m like this…that I’m bothering you, it’s just…I’m worried…I don’t understand why he’s ignoring me.”  
  
“He’s not ignoring you.”  
  
“I haven’t heard from him since Monday morning. He hasn’t returned any of my 17 texts or 13 calls and he’s missed our last four Skype dates.”  
  
“Blaine, it’s noth—“  
  
“Tina.” Blaine stopped so suddenly that Tina--her arm still intertwined with the now immobile Blaine--almost toppled backward. Blaine steadied her and then focused his gaze on her eyes. “Would it be nothing if it were Mike?”   
  
Tina sighed heavily before softly admitting, “No…I’d be terrified.” Realizing what she said, Tina hastened to add, “But that doesn’t mean something is wrong. He’ll call soon. He has to call.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Blaine said, rejoining the crowd milling about them. “I just don’t understand. We  _always_  talk about everything. If Kurt feels like he can’t talk to me, then we should talk…” he trailed off, shaking his head and lightly chuckling at the irony of his words. When the pair reached Blaine’s calculus class, he glanced inside before looking back to Tina and confessing helplessly, “I just want to talk to him.”   
  
“And you will. Because he’ll call.” Tina wiggled Blaine’s elbow. “You know how I know?” she asked playfully.  
  
“How?”   
  
“The same way I know Mike will always call me,” she began. Then, soothing and serious, Tina placed her hand on Blaine’s cheek and reminded him of a fact more reliable and useful than any he had or would ever learn in a classroom: “Kurt loves you, Blaine. He will call.”  
  
Blaine let the truth wash over him, nodded, and allowed himself a small smile, then turned to go to class. Alone. He was still getting use to this.   
  
Blaine and Kurt had never had classes together; seniors and juniors rarely did. But having an upperclassman for a boyfriend had had its perks. Kurt had periods off and he would walk Blaine to class, discreetly peck him on the cheek, and then dash over to Breadsticks to pick up a to-go order that they would share in the backseat of Kurt’s Navigator during the following lunch period. It was the best, especially the pasta flavored kisses they would share before they both had to rush off to class, still flushed and blushing from the heat they had shared in the afternoon sun.  
  
Blaine often joked that if he had known going to school with his boyfriend would be so incredible, he would have come to his senses about Kurt sooner. Blaine would never forgive himself for squandering days, months he could have been making out with Kurt in his Dalton dorm room. Time he wasted on a drunken make-out with Broadway Berry--in his defense, he had been aroused, just not by Rachel…turns out it had been Kurt’s safety-pin pants (Yep. 100% gay). Then there was the ridiculous pining over Gap guy who Kurt still referred to as “The Bullfrog.” And of course, there had always been Blaine’s need to play mentor and protect Kurt from the world’s harms…harms he knew all too well, harms that were the reason he was here alone.   
  
Time was not all Blaine had lost that night in his old high school parking lot.   
  
Blaine had just started his freshman year and he was eager to make the most of it. Coop had always told him that high school was a time to take risks, to experience new things, to find out who you were. So, Blaine decided to take the risk of actually being himself: he came out. His mom had taken it fairly well, although she had cried a lot…something about “grieving over her grandchildren.” His dad however, just pretended like the conversation had never happened. So when the winter Sadie Hawkins dance came around and Blaine told his parents he had asked his friend Dale to go, his mom had briefly looked up from her catalog and said, “Have fun, sweetheart,” with forced cheer. Blaine’s dad had not even tried, but just kept pretending, never looking away from the television. Blaine told himself it was because the Buckeyes were playing. The truth would hurt too much.   
  
Thankfully, Dale’s parents were much more accepting and had agreed to drive them to and from the dance. Blaine’s  _first_  dance. Sure, Dale was not Blaine’s boyfriend, but he was a boy, and that made this the closest to a date Blaine had ever come. He and Dale had an incredible time, enjoying the punch, the dance floor, and the company. Sure there had been a few stares and questioning glances; but nothing worse than he was normally subjected to in the halls of his school. If that was all there was to this being out thing, Blaine thought he could certainly handle it, especially if he did not have to do it alone. He had been so naïve.   
  
They were in the parking lot waiting for Dale’s dad when it had happened.   
  
They stumbled out of the gym door into the moonlight, sweaty and giggly from the dancing, Blaine’s arm draped playfully over Dale’s shoulder. Perhaps Blaine was emboldened by the post-dance euphoria. Perhaps he was eager to pursue the promises of high school lore. Perhaps it was the way Dale was looking at him. Or maybe it was the seeming privacy afforded by the nearly empty parking lot and the few dim street lamps. More than likely, it was probably that Blaine just wanted to know what it felt like. Whatever the reason, Blaine watched as his own hand, seemingly by its own volition, slid across Dale’s neck, down his arm, and intertwined with Dale’s. It was happening. Blaine was holding a boy’s hand.   
  
Then he was not.   
  
Dale’s hand was ripped from his like the pin from a grenade. Explosions of fists and yells of “Faggot!” forced him to the ground. Blaine was lost in the debris. Feet. Buttons. Blood. Screams. His voice calling Dale’s name. His name on Dale’s lips. The sound hung thick in the air, billowing out like a cloud of smoke, until it dissipated and all was silence.   
  
Blaine lay there on the cold concrete in a growing pool of his own blood, his breathing shallow and labored, limbs akimbo, face bruised, swelling and tacky with the blood of a broken nose. As he drifted into the healing safety of unconsciousness, Blaine’s eyes registered something pale and trembling. Dale’s hand lay just out of reach, at the edge of Blaine’s periphery but the center of his mind.   
  
Blaine Anderson’s eyes opened three weeks later to the stained ceiling tiles of Mount Carmel St. Ann’s and his brother’s face. By that time, Dale was gone. According to Cooper, Dale’s family had packed up two weeks before when the school’s administration said there was nothing they could do about the attack. As soon as Dale had been released from the hospital, they had gone. All that remained of Dale was the card sitting beside Blaine’s hospital bed. It was generic, some pith about getting well soon, but Blaine had kept it anyway because it too had been held by the first hand that held his.   
  
Blaine wanted to run as well, but he could not. He could not even stand. It took months of recovery and physical therapy before he was even able to walk without assistance. When Blaine learned that he had missed too much school and would be forced to repeat his freshman year, most of which had been spent in the hospital or a therapist’s office, he had initially wanted to give up, stop trying. Then he realized that maybe this was what he needed, a truly fresh start. So, the following August, he donned a blazer and walked confidently, if a little pigeon toed, into the halls of the esteemed Dalton Academy. No one needed to know the real reason he was there: that he had been a coward, a victim—something he would never again allow himself to be.   
  
It had taken Blaine too long to regain his courage and dignity. There was something crippling about never knowing the identity of his victimizers. Every stranger could be the one that had grabbed him from behind, the one that had kicked in his ribs, or the one that had spat on him—the final act of degradation. Kurt had been one of the first strangers he had not had to remind himself to look in the eye.  
  
The old Blaine had been weak, vulnerable, scared, and as far as the new Blaine was concerned; he had bled out on the concrete.   
  
Now, parked in Kurt’s old McKinley parking spot, lying prone in his backseat, staring at the upholstered roof, hiding from the world, he felt the old Blaine resurrecting inside of him. He was terrified. Those bastards had already stolen so much. To this day, Blaine was still trying to win back his father’s respect – he had given up on his love years ago. Blaine had managed to recovered his courage, and survived a real first date, but what he wanted back most was his time: time he had not missed until he had found his courage in the boy he hoped would be his last date; time, if not stolen, he would be spending,--should be spending--with Kurt. In New York. Now. If they again took his friend, his best friend, his Kurt, he would never recover. There was no rehabilitation for a broken heart.   
  
Blaine’s phone buzzed and his heart stopped. He rolled onto his side, fumbling his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. Disappointment. Again. “Just Tina,” he sighed.   
  
 **Tina 1:36pm**   
_Where are you? Artie and I saved  
you a seat._  
  
Blaine fell back onto the seat with a humph, dropping his phone onto his chest. He loved Tina, Artie, and the rest of the glee club, but he did not feel like being sociable. He just did not have it in him to fake a smile, and he did not want to feel any worse than he already did about it, and even more so, he did not want to make others feel bad. He needed to leave. He needed to go some place where he was the thermometer and not the thermostat: if he set the mood, no one would be happy and he could not be responsible for that. Not now. Blaine climbed clumsily into the front seat, started the car, and drove toward the only place that remotely fit the bill.  
  
~  
  
Blaine pushed open the door and approached the counter. He smiled. Sheila was back. Black and spunky, Sheila’s customer commentary always made him laugh. Blaine thought they could have been friends if she were not thirty and he nearly nineteen. Of course the age difference did not matter to him (he had always been told he was mature for his age), but he thought a beautiful, hilarious, adult female probably had better things to do than hang out with gay teenagers. So, Blaine settled for sipping the coffee she made for him while listening to and laughing at her banter.   
  
“Hey, Preppy. Medium drip?” Sheila asked, glancing around quickly before adding, “Where’s Pretty?”  
  
“Actually, may I have a nonfat mocha? And…umm…he’s not here…he left,” Blaine’s eyes fell to the side as if following his drifting voice.   
  
“Well shit, that’s too bad. I thought this place seemed a little less colorful. Those outfits…” Sheila chuckled. “That’s what I get for goin’ on vacation. I sure am sorry to hear that, you two were cute together.”  
  
“Are, not were,” Blaine blurted, “and…and thanks.”  
  
“Ahh, so you’re trying to make the long distance thing work,” she said. It was not a question, but Blaine nodded anyway. “Well, good luck with that, honey. I’d ask how it’s going but I can guess by your coffee order…”  
  
It took all of his effort, but Blaine kept his head held high, though he could not hide the pain in his face.   
  
“Aww, I’m sure it’ll be alright. That Pretty couldn’t get enough of you. I’m a sure a few miles won’t change that.”  
  
“I hope you’re right,” Blaine stated matter-of-factly, trying to keep his voice free of emotion.   
  
“Sure I am. Now go on and sit while I get this mocha.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me, boy, or I’ll put more than milk in your mocha,” she warned.  
  
“Sorry, Sheila!” Blaine said, managing a smile and taking a seat in the corner to await his name.   
  
Blaine was on his phone, thumbing through Kurt’s Facebook profile, checking for any pertinent status updates when his name was called. Unfortunately, it was not Sheila’s voice.   
  
“Hey, Blaine. I thought that nonfat mochas were Miss Hummel’s drink.” Sebastian smirked as he sat Blaine’s coffee down on the table and pulled back the empty seat across from Blaine and sat.   
  
“Leave,” Blaine commanded firmly.  
  
“Aww, come on, Blaine. Mama’s gone. We can play now.”  
  
Blaine found it hard to believe that he had ever considered Sebastian harmless. After last year’s slushy and surgery, Blaine had been ready to fight. But then Sebastian had surprised everyone and shown he was capable of even the most basic of human emotions. Blaine had wanted to believe in the good in people, especially a fellow Warbler, but Kurt had been right: they should have waited for the punch. It always came. And it had.   
  
“Sebastian, I’m not going to say it again.”  
  
“Oooh. You’re all pissy because Prissy is ignoring you?” Sebastian taunted.  
  
Blaine’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he said nothing. Under the insults there was truth.   
  
“Silence is compliance, isn’t it Blaine?” Sebastian thrice clucked his tongue in time with his slowly shaking head. “I never thought he’d leave  _you_ . Just as well. You were too good for him anyway.”  
  
“Go to hell.” Blaine’s rage was just below the surface, seeping out in the harsh whisper of his voice.  
  
“Fiesty. I like it.”  
  
“Why don’t you understand ‘no?’”  
  
“Uhh…” Sebastian screwed up his face in mock thought, “how about because you never mean it?”  
  
Blaine had never been closer to losing all sense of decorum and throwing his scalding coffee into Sebastian’s smirking face. Blaine settled on the verbal equivalent: “Fuck you.”  
  
“Mmm, is that an invitation, Anderson?” Sebastian was insufferable and Blaine had had more than enough months ago.   
  
“Yes, it’s an invitation,” Blaine spat. “It’s an invitation for you to get it through your poorly styled head that I am with  _Kurt_ . I love  _Kurt_ . And even if Kurt and I were not together, you and I never would be for a multitude of reasons I do not believe your demonstrably limited intellect capable of comprehending in the miniscule amount of time I’m willing to waste on you.”  
  
Sebastian was apparently stunned into a silence interrupted by Blaine’s suddenly vibrating phone. Blaine’s eyes locked on to the screen lit with a notification:  
  
 **Kurt**  
 _Text Message_  
  
Blaine stood up, threw on his jacket, and scooped up his phone and bag. He grabbed his still-full nonfat mocha and placed it deliberately in front of Sebastian, leaned down slightly, and nearly whispered, “You can keep the mocha. It’s good, but it tastes better on Kurt’s lips.”   
  
Blaine straightened and headed purposefully for the exit, hoping no one noticed his trembling hand on the way out.   
  
  
~  
  
Blaine did not start the car. He just sat there staring at the dimming screen of his phone. He had been waiting over three days for this, and now that it had happened, he was not sure he wanted it anymore. Why was Kurt texting? Why had he not just called? What if it was some long message that meant nothing, or worse, a short one that meant everything? Giving his head a shake, Blaine took a deep breath, and slid his thumb across the screen to reveal the text:  
  
 **Kurt 3:09pm**  
 _Skype tonight? Usual time?_  
  
Blaine thought about sending something snarky and sarcastic seeing as though the past few nights he had sat up waiting for hours staring at his computer screen, waiting for Kurt’s icon to pop up. Instead, Blaine settled on his customary response to any of Kurt’s suggestions:  
  
 **Honey B 3:12pm**  
 _Of course._  
  
Blaine checked his watch and sighed. Five hours to kill until 8 o’clock. Time keeping him away from Kurt was time he did not mind losing.  
  
The engine came to life with a roar and Blaine pulled cautiously out of the Lima Bean parking lot and onto the road. The drive was both too long and too short. Blaine had done his best to drive as slowly as he could without angering other motorists, but he still found himself pulling into his driveway all too soon. Time was a jerk like that: when Blaine wanted it gone, time decided it had no place better to be.   
  
 **3:56pm**  
  
Blaine trudged into his empty house, grabbed two pieces of chocolate biscotti from the kitchen, and climbed the stairs to his room. Depositing his bag in his large red leather chair, he shrugged off his jacket, left it atop his hamper, opened the blinds of his windows, sat down at his desk, and turned on his computer.   
  
 **4:01pm**  
  
Skimming through his Hulu queue, Blaine stopped briefly and absently scratched the back of his hand. After mindlessly perusing the available selection, he settled on the most recent episode of SMASH. He had missed it Monday night because he had been sitting here staring at his computer screen instead of lying on his bed, chin in hands, shaking his head in disbelief at both Ivy’s talent and her naïveté.   
  
 **4:47pm**  
  
The Broadway and New York references became too much and Blaine had to turn it off. Plus, Blaine’s fear found a companion in his latent resentment every time Blaine wondered what Kurt thought of each new development, or if Kurt had watched the show alone…or with someone else.   
  
Blaine needed something funny and lighthearted. He needed Modern Family.   
  
 **5:06pm**  
  
 _Note to self: Do not watch adorable gay couple when your adorable boyfriend may no longer want to be a couple._  
  
Television was clearly not the answer. Maybe he could find solace in video games.   
  
 **6:23pm**  
  
Wii Jeopardy was always fun, but it was a lot easier when Kurt helped him with some of the categories. Blaine always dominated the sports categories, classic entertainment was Kurt’s forte, and they both had a solid command of literature. They made an incredible team.   
  
 _Are we still a team?_   
  
No more Jeopardy.   
  
 **6:54pm**  
  
“Blaine, dear?” His mother knocked twice and opened the door. Blaine hated when she did that. Who does not wait to be invited into a room? He told himself it was because she cared.  _That_ , he loved. If he was honest with himself, he wished they talked more, that she would come into the room instead of lingering at the door like she always did, as though she would fall over a cliff if she ventured in too far.   
  
“Yes, Mom?” Blaine said, looking up from where he had been fiddling with one of his toy robots to look at her. He always marveled at her beauty: her small, elegant frame, which he was sure was the cause of his; her round face perfectly complimented by her ebony tresses which fell gracefully at her shoulders; her light brown eyes set gorgeously against her almond skin. His father had certainly done well for himself…too well, in Blaine’s estimation.  
  
“I was thinking of ordering take-out. Did you want anything?” she asked.  
  
“I’m not really hungry. Thank you, though.” Blaine turned back to his trinket; sure that was the end of their interaction. However, after a few seconds he still felt her presence in the room, and he turned slowly to find her lingering in the doorway, fidgeting. Her face was crinkled in the way that indicated she wanted to speak but was unsure of what to say. When she found the words, they came out weakly.  
  
“How is…umm…how is he?” Was his mother, Camille Dilag-Anderson, who had never once asked him about a boy, especially Kurt, his boyfriend, in his entire out gay teen life, actually finally doing so at likely the only time he wanted to talk about anything but? Blaine appreciated her attempt, more than she could probably know, but he was already hurting and he did not have the strength to watch his mother struggle awkwardly through a painful conversation about his boyfriend.   
  
“I rather not talk about it, if that’s okay,” he muttered.  
  
“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” his mother hurried, obviously relieved, and changed the topic with remarkable alacrity. “Your father will be home tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay.” Blaine nodded.  
  
“Well…let me know if you need anything. I’m ordering pad thai, no onions, just like you like it.”  
  
The conversation was obviously over, but Camille delayed for a moment, her hand on the doorframe for support. She took a steadying breath and said, “I love you, Blaine.” It was not just a passing statement of love used as a common bookend to a conversation: the Andersons did not operate that way. Instead, it was as though she was simultaneously trying to refute any doubts they both had about the truth of her declaration with the purposefulness of her words and the clarity of her tone.   
  
“I love you too, Mom,” Blaine returned, his lips curling inward and disappearing in a sad half smile. She gave a swift nod and turned to go. The door was almost closed when Blaine called out, “Mom?” Camille pushed the door open a few inches and peaked inside. “Thank you,” Blaine whispered. She smiled indulgently at him and then left, closing the door behind her.   
  
  
 **7:32pm**  
  
A perfectly appetizing piece of chocolate biscotti sat on Blaine’s desk completely untouched. Blaine was lying on Kurt’s side of his bed, Kurt’s pillow clutched against his chest, his pillow pinned to the bed by his head as he stared unseeing at the ceiling. Adele’s “He Won’t Go,” on its sixth consecutive play, blared from his computer speakers.   
  
Blaine could no longer pretend he was calm. His brain had become a frightening and confusing place.  
  
Some say I’ll be better without you  
But they don’t know you like I do  
Or at least the sides I thought I knew.  
  
 _We belong together. Kurt’s the one. Sure, it’s not like him to not call, but he did text, we’re going to talk, it’s going to be fine. There has to be a reasonable explanation._   
  
I can’t bear this time  
It drags on as I lose my mind  
Reminded by the things I find  
Like notes and clothes you left behind.  
  
 _What time is it? Oh god, I’m a mess. I can’t even watch TV or play video games without being reminded of Kurt. It’s just Jeopardy, Blaine! Ha, that’s probably what Kurt would say. Oh god, I’m losing it._   
  
Wake me up, wake me up when all is done  
I won’t rise until this battle’s won  
My dignity’s become undone.  
  
 _You can say that again, girl. Dignity? What dignity?_   
  
But I won’t go  
I can’t do it on my own  
If this ain’t love then what is?  
I’m willing to take the risk.  
  
 _I’m in this. Kurt’s in this. We love each other. He texted. We’re going to talk. He cares. It wouldn’t if I didn’t love him. I can do this. We can get through this._  
  
 **7:57pm**  
  
Okay, Blaine needed to pull himself together. He could not let Kurt see him like this, not right now. Kurt need not know that four days of radio silence had reduced Blaine to literally rolling in the deep. Blaine got hastily to his feet and turned on his bedroom light. On the way to remake his bed, he passed his mirror and did a double take. He looked like hell: wrinkled sweater vest, lopsided bow tie, hair more akin to Alfalfa than his usual dapper self. Blaine might not be okay, but he would not allow himself to look it.   
  
Blaine ran to his closet, stripped off the untidy vest, and donned another. Thankfully, with all the red, white and blue he owned, it was not difficult to find something to compliment his newly straightened navy and red bow tie.   
  
The wardrobe was simple enough but his hair was another matter. He sprinted from his room, down the hall, and slid breathlessly into the bathroom he had shared with Coop. Gel, the gel, where was his gel? He fished out the container of his favorite brand, grabbed a comb from the drawer, and proceeded to quickly, yet meticulously rectify the  _Little Rascals_  situation that had broken out on his head. Once his locks were again tamed, he threw the comb aside, did not even bother putting the gel away, and ran full stop to his bedroom. He had to grab the doorframe to prevent himself from ramming into the wall during his uncontrolled reentrance to his room.  
  
Ringing. There was ringing.  _Shit, he was late._  
  
“I’m here!” Blaine shouted breathlessly, forgetting Kurt would not be able to hear him until he actually accepted the incoming call. Blaine sat down at his desk, maneuvered his mouse to accept the call, and used the seconds it took for Kurt’s face to appear to steel himself, smooth down his vest, and affix a mask of calm. Then, Blaine was looking upon Kurt’s face for the first time in over four days.   
  
“Hi,” Kurt breathed. He was so beautiful. Somehow Kurt’s eyes were bluer and brighter than Blaine remembered, the incredible flecks of yellow still obvious and brilliant even when pixilated. But there was something else there, something Blaine could always recognize: sadness.  
  
“Hi,” Blaine returned, anxiety coating his voice.   
  
“Is that music?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Oh, yeah…” Blaine tried for nonchalance as he fiercely tapped the volume down on his keyboard.   
  
“How are you?” Kurt’s voice was nearly trembling. Blaine would have usually loved the adherence to the niceties of polite conversation, but not now. Not when there was so much unsaid, so much he desperately needed to hear.  
  
“Honestly, Kurt? I’m not too good,” Blaine began, trying to keep his tone level so as not to make Kurt feel guilty…yet. “I’ve been worried.”  
  
“I know and I’m sorry,” Kurt rushed, breathless and sincere. Blaine visibly sagged with relief. Kurt knew. Kurt was sorry. Maybe they were still Kurt and Blaine. But Kurt was still speaking. What was he saying? “It’s just…it’s just…” Kurt was stammering now, stumbling over his words in a rush to get them out, “I didn’t know how to tell you…and Mercedes was no help, and I knew I needed to do this face to face—well as close to face to face as we--”  
  
“Kurt! Kurt, babe! Slow down.” Blaine’s hands were up as though, if Kurt were in front of him, he would put them on Kurt’s shoulders to steady him. The gesture seemed to work. Kurt took a breath, then another, and he looked into the camera, searching for Blaine’s eyes.   
  
“You were right,” Kurt finally said.  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Timmy wasn’t harmless.”  
  
“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine breathed. A montage of possibilities played through Blaine’s mind, all evoking the same response: concern. Blaine leaned in, his eyes darting across Kurt’s image on the screen, checking for bruises, anything, signs of what may have happened. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”  
  
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kurt assured, realizing immediately what Blaine assumed. “It was nothing like that.”   
  
Another sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god,” Blaine said, his hand falling heavily over his heart. “Okay, so what  _did_  happen?”  
  
“Well, you remember when we Skyped last week and I told you about that essay I was writing for Crit and Perspectives?” Kurt began.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Well, I turned it in the next day and I thought it was wonderful, because it was wonderful,” Kurt said the last part with a pointed finger and eyes looking directly into his camera. “But Professor Caldwell apparently thought ‘my analysis was too narrow’ that I was ‘only seeing fashion from my narrow perspective’ and the ‘purpose of the course is to analyze fashion from a multitude of viewpoints,’” Kurt was warming up, air quotes in full display, twisting his voice into what Blaine surmised was supposed to be an imitation of Professor Caldwell. “And then, Blaine, and then, he said to my face that if I don’t get out of my own head and ‘see other perspectives’ that I’ll never make it in fashion! I mean the audacity of this man to—“  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine said softly, shutting his eyes and bringing his palms together and to his face so that his index fingers brushed against his lips and his chin rested on his thumbs, trying for patience. “Babe, I love you. And I’m trying. But I really need you to sort of get to the punch line here, or did you really need to wait four days so you could talk to me face to face about an essay?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, realizing he was rambling.  
  
“You don’t need to apologize,” Blaine reassured. “Just please tell me what happened.”  
  
“I’m trying,”   
  
“I know.”  
  
Kurt took a deep breath. “We were drunk.”  
  
“What? Who?” Blaine interrupted, his hands falling from his face to lightly grip his desk.   
  
“Blaine, please. I’m trying.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, go on.”  
  
“We were drunk --Timmy and I. I got a ‘D’ on that damn paper, a ‘ _D_ ,’ Blaine, and I don’t get ‘D’s, I’ve  _never_  gotten a D. And I was livid and…and…and terrified…and…”  
  
“You could have called me, Kurt,” Blaine could not stop himself.  
  
“I know, I know, and I wish I had, but after I got the paper back, I was in the lounge talking about it,” Kurt had actually been yelling and on the verge of tears, but he did not feel those details were pertinent at the moment, “and Timmy was there and he said I needed a drink, and I wouldn’t normally, but I was just so upset, and he said he would invite some people over and I don’t really know anyone so I thought it would be a great opportunity to make some new friends because I—“  
  
“Kurt, babe, we’re veering…” Blaine strained to keep his voice soft, soothing.  
  
“I’m sorry. Umm…okay…so, Timmy invited a bunch of his friends over to his room and we all drank, and of course I drank too much, but everything was fine until the next morning…”  
  
~  
  
 **_Tuesday, October 23, 2012 (Past: Three days ago)_ **  
  
Kurt leaned back into the warmth of Blaine’s firm body. Kurt loved waking up with Blaine’s muscular arms wrapped around him. Flesh on flesh. Kurt still marveled at the contrast between the tones of their skin, a visible reminder that someone else was holding him, loving him. When the orange and maroon of the rising sun began to diffuse the black of his eyelids, Kurt finally opened his eyes and ran his fingertips along the arm draped across his hip.   
  
Panic replaced pleasure.   
  
This was not his room. This was not his bed. This was not Blaine’s arm. Not Blaine’s skin. Not Blaine.   
  
How had he gotten here? What had happened? Kurt mentally surveyed his body – he could feel his jeans still up around his waist and his shirt was wrinkled and damp against his chest. The man behind him, however – and it was definitely a man – was not as modestly clothed…or clothed at all. From what Kurt’s hyper aware senses could tell, the man behind him was definitely shirtless and the fabric from his waist down was so thin it could only be pajama pants…or boxers.   
  
Kurt could not move, he could not breathe, but apparently the body behind him could.   
  
“Morning, you,” the man behind him whispered, squeezing Kurt a little tighter. It was Timmy. It was definitely Timmy. Even masked by the distortion of a night’s sleep, Kurt knew that voice. “Crazy night, huh?”   
  
“Yeah…” Kurt offered cautiously, afraid the act of speaking would move his body in any way that would signal to Timmy that this was okay or wanted.  
  
“You feelin’ any better? You got pretty sick,” Timmy cooed, stroking his arm.  
  
Kurt tensed immediately. He wanted to throw Timmy’s arm off of him and bolt from the bed, but he could not. If he did, it would be awkward forever and then Kurt really would have absolutely no friends. Kurt could do this. He could get out of this. Just a little small talk and then he would stretch, get up, go back to his dorm room, and they would never speak of this again. “My head hurts,” Kurt offered, trying to sound as distressed as possible. “I think I’m hung over. I should probably go.”  
  
Breath rushed hot on Kurt’s neck as Timmy softly whispered, “You don’t have to go.” Kurt clenched his eyes shut, literally trembling with the effort as his mind tried to will his body to stay still, to not thrash, to not fight. He had to do this gently. Timmy was a friend. This was a misunderstanding. Kurt began to shift away, lean forward, anything to get space between his and Timmy’s bodies. Then everything happened all at once: Timmy slipped his arm all the way around Kurt’s abdomen, pulled Kurt’s body flush against his own, ground his hips against Kurt as he placed a kiss on the crown of Kurt’s head, and whispered, “I want you to stay.”   
  
All rationale was erased from Kurt’s frantic mind. He had to get out. Now. Kurt was unsure how, but seconds later he was on his feet, scrambling to find his shoes and shawl in the dim light of the room. Timmy was up too, hands up as if in surrender, hurt, fear, and something else Kurt could not quite place, evident in his eyes. “Did I do something wrong? What’s wrong?” Timmy stammered.   
  
“I have a boyfriend; that’s what wrong!” Kurt screeched, hopping on one leg in an attempt to get on the one shoe he had managed to retrieve from under Timmy’s bed.   
  
“I know that; I just figured…” Timmy’s voice died.  
  
“Figured what, Timmy? That you could climb into bed with me, we’d spoon all night, and I would love you in the morning?” Kurt spat, bending to grab his other shoe.   
  
“I don’t know what I figured,” Timmy admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I came up here and you were…you were…in my bed…and I just thought…” Timmy looked away, stuffing his trembling hands into the pockets of his pajama pants.  
  
“Thought what, Timmy?” Kurt inquired harshly, his back to Timmy as he yanked his shawl off the back of Timmy’s desk chair. “God, it’s not like I know my way around here anyway, or that even if I did I was in any state to know what I was doing. I slept in a designer shirt, Timmy! What could you have possibly thought?” Kurt yelled, turning to face Timmy. But, the look on Timmy’s face drained all of Kurt’s anger.   
  
“I thought you liked me back,” Timmy whispered at the ground. “I mean…you knew…that I liked you…still like you.” Timmy, shoulders slumped, watched his own foot as he kicked it nervously back and forth.   
  
“Fine,” Kurt breathed, deflating still more. “Yes, I knew—I mean, I had been told as much—but that doesn’t mean that’s why I came over,” Kurt said, using his explanatory tone in an attempt to not hurt Timmy’s feelings. “I have a boyfriend. I’m with Blaine.”  
  
“I know that,” Timmy nodded, seemingly to himself.  
  
“Good,” Kurt huffed. “I have to go, Timmy,” he finished, slipping on his shawl and moving toward the door.” Timmy made no move to stop him, but simply took a few steps backward toward the wall opposite the door. Just as Kurt reached the door and turned the knob to leave, he heard Timmy mutter from the corner, “I really am sorry, Kurt.”  
  
“I know,” Kurt assured, not turning from the door.  
  
“I didn’t mean to scare you, or hurt you or anything…I would never…” Timmy still would not look up.  
  
“I know, Timmy,” Kurt sighed.   
  
“Blaine…umm…he’s really lucky to have you.”  
  
Kurt slowly turned to see Timmy’s brown eyes glancing toward him from beneath his still bowed head, and Kurt was finally able to identify the other substance residing in Timmy’s eyes, the name that had alluded him earlier: regret.   
  
“Thank you, Timmy, but I’m the lucky one.” Kurt gave a final nod, turned, and left.   
  
~  
  
 _**Friday, October 26th, 2012** _  
  
One breath in, one breath out, Blaine was reminding himself. It had been bad, yes. It had been difficult, painful, and at multiple points terrifying to hear. But he had come out on the other side. They had come out on the other side. Kurt had gotten drunk, a silly mistake – one Blaine himself had made before – and gotten into a misunderstanding that was clarified by Kurt’s love for Blaine. Everything was fine. Everything would be fine. It had to be fine.  
  
But the longer Blaine stared at Kurt’s image on his screen, the longer the silence went unbroken, and the longer it took for Kurt to look up and meet Blaine’s eyes, the clearer it became that everything was not fine.   
  
Blaine could no longer prevent the unspoken yet certain truth from invading his mind – the truth they both had known from the moment Kurt had uttered the word “harmless,” from the moment Blaine had recognized the sadness in his lover’s eyes, from the moment Kurt’s guilt had silenced his phone, ignored Blaine’s texts, and driven him from his computer for the past three nights.   
  
Blaine shut his eyes and dropped his head under the weight of the oncoming fact that would crush all others into lies. For Blaine knew he only had the courage to ask, but not to see. With the voice of a rumor, Blaine uttered the question to which he already knew the answer: “There’s more isn’t there?”  
  
Kurt did not speak. Blaine refused to lift his head, forcing his ears to strain against the silence, trying to hear what he would not let his eyes see. The still playing music rose gently through the murky silence like the pieces of a once forgotten dream:   
  
 _Will he? Will he still remember me?  
Will he still love me even when he’s free?  
Or will he go back to the place  
Where he would choose the poison over me?  
_  
In the end, Blaine did not have to look up to see, for each slow nod of Kurt’s head was a blow to Blaine’s swiftly shattering heart, and each splintered shard pierced his very being.


	7. Wake Up

**_Wednesday, April 23, 2031 (Present: One month later)_**  
  
Blaine was trying to get on with his life, which meant he had thrown himself into his work, which meant he was in the studio. He had always heard it said by “industry insiders” that a broken heart was the best inspiration. Blaine was beginning to doubt that, along with everything else in his life. It had been nearly a month and Blaine was not inspired. To make things worse, his phone was ringing again. It was Kurt. Out of habit, Blaine reached out to silence the phone but it was gone. Startled, he looked up to see Eddie clutching his phone.   
  
“Not this time, Blaine. You should at least talk to him.” Eddie was a good guy and an even better friend. He and Blaine had met at NYU and realized, after running into each other at all the same concerts in the City that they needed to be friends. When they graduated, it seemed obvious that they should partner up and take the music world by storm—and they had. Blaine had always been able to go to Eddie for advice, but right now, Blaine preferred Eddie mind his own business.   
  
“Eddie, give me the phone,” Blaine said casually, holding out his hand expectantly.  
  
“No. You’ve been miserable, buddy. You know I love you, but you’re pretty worthless this way, and your lyrics suck. You’re no Adele.” Eddie had never withheld the truth from Blaine, even when it hurt.   
  
The phone was still ringing.   
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eddie. But I don’t want to talk to him.” The fatigue of heartbreak had taken all the fight out of Blaine.   
  
“Don’t lie, Blaine.” Blaine had always been a terrible liar, and Eddie was second only to Kurt in identifying the truth Blaine tried to hide. “I know you’re scared, but maybe it’s not as bad as you think. Maybe he has a good reason.”  
  
“A good reason for having another man, who, by the way, wants him and whom he wants, in our house, with our kids, and obviously not for the first time?”— A flash of anger. Maybe there was a little fight left. “Tori called him…she called him “uncle…” Just as quickly as it had flared, the fight was doused with hurt.   
  
“I see your point, friend,” Eddie comforted, placing his hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “But wasn’t it you that taught me that love never gives up? You and Kurt have something special. At least hear him out.” With that, Eddie touched the screen, accepting Kurt’s call, and placed the phone in Blaine’s still outstretched hand.   
  
Reluctantly, Blaine raised the lit phone slowly to his ear and heard Kurt’s voice for the first time in nearly a month.   
  
“You…you answered,” Kurt stammered.   
  
“Yes. I answered.”  
  
“I hadn’t expected…”  
  
“What do you need, Kurt?” Blaine was willing to listen, but he was not going to entertain Kurt. He was not going to sit through small talk as though they were just friends catching up over coffee and not lovers separated by more than distance.   
  
“Well, I…umm…I was calling about the tree house,” Kurt rushed.  
  
“The tree house?” Blaine’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion on the brink of frustration.  
  
“Yeah…T and B were playing in it earlier—“  
  
“Are they okay?” Blaine interrupted, images of hospitals, blood, and stitches bombarding his mind.   
  
“Yes, yes, of course!” Kurt quickly assured before continuing nervously. “It’s just, well, I was looking at the wood and it’s getting a little dull and I was thinking it needed another coat of lacquer, but I couldn’t remember the brand we’d used.”  
  
Blaine’s hand caught his falling head and his calloused thumbs massaged his aching eyes. “You called about the brand of wood finish we used on the tree house? Really?”  
  
“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt answered matter-of-factly, as though he could not understand why Blaine was questioning.  
  
“Nothing else? You have nothing else to say?” Blaine did not even try to mask his indignance.   
  
“Uhh, are you still taking the kids next week?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Aren’t I always there when I say I’m going to be?” Blaine said, giving up on holding in his anger.   
  
“Blaine, don’t be this way, you ne—“  
  
“We used spar varnish,” Blaine interrupted. “The brand doesn’t matter. Just make sure the label designates it’s for outdoor use,” Blaine hurriedly explained. “Goodbye, Kurt.” Blaine did not wait for Kurt’s response before he hung up the phone and slammed it down on the counter. Blaine’s frustration pushed his chair back from the sound equipment and doubled him over at the waist. If Eddie had not been in the room, Blaine probably would have allowed himself tears, but Eddie couldn’t see that, the situation was awkward enough already.   
  
“I’m sorry, man,” Eddie’s voice was barely audible, but his guilt was loud and clear.   
  
Blaine did not look up, for he feared the look in Eddie’s eyes would bring tears to his. “I’m just…” Blaine whispered into his hands. “I’m just gonna go, okay? I’ll…I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”  
  
“Take your time. I can take care of things here. The divas love me,” Eddie added, trying for a joke.   
  
“Thanks.” Blaine rose heavily from his seat and, still averting his eyes, patted Eddie absently on the back as he went.   
  
~  
  
Blaine did not even exchange pleasantries with the cab driver before muttering his address and retrieving his phone from his pocket. He needed to talk to someone – someone who understood. The phone rang for what seemed like forever when Blaine finally heard the tell-tale click and a curious voice on the other end.   
  
“Hello? Blaine?”  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Wow, Blaine. It’s been a while.”  
  
“I know…I’m sorry.” He was.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t called either. How have you been? I heard about…about you and Kurt.”  
  
“Honestly? I’m not too good. That’s why I’m calling. Would you mind…coming over?”  
  
“Sure, umm, where are you these days?”  
  
“The old apartment -- East 65th Street.”   
  
“Oh yeah, I remember. When were you thinking?”  
  
“Uhh…now…if that’s not a problem, of course.”  
  
“Wow…” Blaine held his breath listening to the breathing on the other end. “Okay, but let me finish up a few things here and I’ll be over.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.”   
  
~  
  
Blaine leaned against the doorframe, mustering the strength to push himself across the threshold of the apartment. When he and Kurt had moved out to the suburbs, they had refused to sell it: one had to be out of one’s mind to get rid of perfectly good New York City real estate. Blaine had thought of leasing it, but Kurt had refused (“And let someone redecorate? Never!”).  
  
Blaine had been thankful for Kurt’s stubbornness over one month ago, when he had arrived here in much the same emotional state, the night Kurt had first told him of his doubts, the night the sensitive scar tissue of his heart had been torn open. He had stood in the doorway, immobile, unable to enter because the reasons Blaine had loved this apartment -- the windows, the counter space of which he and Kurt had always made good use – were now the reasons he hated it. Upon every surface, every inch, he and Kurt had built memories, memories which, once a comfort and reminder of a shared past, now taunted him with the promise of a future that was no longer his.   
  
However, at least here, surrounded by images and trinkets from the beginning of his and Kurt’s marriage, Blaine could sometimes slip beneath the glistening surface of the pain, wallow in denial, and pretend. In those fleeting moments, everything was fine. Blaine had simply returned home early from work that day. Tori was at school, Bertie was at daycare, and Kurt would be home soon. That night, they would have dinner as a family, he and Kurt would put the kids to bed, make love, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. It was on that crutch of a lie that Blaine hoisted himself across the threshold, passed the kitchen Kurt had always loved, through the light beaming in through the windows Blaine adored, and collapsed onto the bed in which he and Kurt had decided to go from two to three.   
  
Blaine did not know how long he had been lying there when the bell sounded, signaling a visitor. He rolled from the bed, pressed the button welcoming his guest, and two minutes later opened the door to Mike Chang.   
  
“Hey, Blaine,” Mike said, grabbing Blaine by the hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug.   
  
Blaine, starved for contact, sunk into the hug. “Hey, Mike. Thanks for coming.”  
  
“No problem.” The two broke apart and Mike sauntered toward the living room.   
  
Blaine remained awkwardly in the foyer gesturing toward the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink?”  
  
“Blaine, come here,” Mike said, taking a seat. “You don’t need to play polite host for me. Tell me what’s up.”   
  
Blaine ran his steepled hands over his mouth and began, “You heard about…about me and Kurt?”  
  
“Yeah, man, I was really sorry to hear it.”  
  
“Yeah…” Blaine blinked. “Well, he and I haven’t really talked since it happened but he’s been calling. He called again today, and I didn’t want to answer, but I did and…” Blaine looked away, worrying his eyes with his hands.   
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Nothing!” Blaine blurted. “Nothing! That’s what happened! He asked about fucking wood finishing for the tree house. He didn’t even say that he was sorry, that he wanted us to talk. Nothing!” Blaine threw his hands up in despair. “I just, I just…” Blaine’s voice broke as he clasped his hand to his mouth but the tears were already spilling. Blaine turned away and Mike averted his eyes to give Blaine some semblance of privacy while he pulled himself back together. There was nothing beautiful about cracking marble.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Blaine said through his fingers, still struggling to mend.   
  
“You don’t have to apologize to me, man. I know how you feel. When Tina ended things, it really hurt.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I figured that’s why you called,” Mike admitted. “I was expecting it, really.”  
  
Blaine’s half smile was as much a confession as an attempt to reaffix the mask. They existed in the silence while Blaine vacillated between continuing his well-crafted game of pretend and finally letting someone else in…all the way in. Blaine settled on the latter, realizing that if he must let someone in, it should be Mike, because at least Mike had been here before and knew the way out. “I just don’t know what to do,” Blaine said, lifting the lid on a dusty and hidden truth. “Without him, I don’t know how to be.”   
  
“You have to find a new way to be.”  
  
“How? How did you do it?” Blaine pleaded, his voice reaching for the answer like a castaway for a raft.   
  
“You have to get out. Meet new people.”  
  
“Did that help you?”  
  
“It doesn’t hurt as much,” Mike shrugged. “That’s all you can really ask for.”  
  
Blaine seemed to consider it for a moment, before turning and declaring, “Teach me.”   
  
~  
  
 ** _Saturday, April 26, 2031 (Present: Three days later)_**  
  
“Blaine, are you ready?” Mike called from the living room.  
  
“I don’t know, Mike.” Blaine was standing in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom, trying to get a glimpse of himself from all sides.   
  
“The suits we bought look great. Plus, it’s the man that makes the suit. And you can’t say you don’t like the blazer.”  
  
“The blazer is good…” Blaine muttered, looking over his shoulder, into the mirror, trying to get the rear view.   
  
“Come on, man, before it gets too late. We’re not teenagers anymore.”  
  
“Fine, fine…” Blaine said, straightening his tie with a shaky hand, and walking into the living room with what he hoped passed for confidence.   
  
~  
  
Blaine was out of his element. He had never done this. Sure, he had gone to a few gay bars, but he had always been with Kurt. There had never been any pressure, nobody to impress. That had been one of the perks of marrying his high school sweetheart; he and Kurt had never hesitated to gently rub the noses of their unlucky-in-love friends in their adorable love whenever they lamented the trials of attempting to find romance at the local bar. As Blaine sat at the bar, fiddling with his straw, beside an overly confident Mike Chang, he slowly became ever more certain some sort of karma was at work.  
  
“That guy’s looking at you.” Mike’s elbow was nudging him.  
  
“What guy?” Blaine’s eyes darted around in a panic.   
  
“That guy,” Mike said, trying to gesture discreetly to the gentleman at the other end of the bar.   
  
“No he’s not,” Blaine said, refusing to actually look.   
  
“Yes, he is,” Mike insisted.  
  
“How can you even tell?” Blaine needed to pick up as many tips as possible if he was going to get out of this with the few remaining scraps of his dignity.   
  
“Well, if you would look, you would notice that his eyes are aimed in this direction…plus I sent him a drink in your name,” Mike hurried.  
  
“Mike!” Blaine nearly yelped, spinning dramatically on his stool to face Mike but instead inadvertently locking eyes with the guy who was _definitely_  looking at him. Before Blaine could recover and properly scold Mike, Mike was already off his stool and retreating.  
  
“Gotta go. Here he comes.”  
  
“Mike, wait!” Blaine said turning to see Mike’s back disappear into the dancing crowd.   
  
“Hi. Was that your boyfriend?” This guy  _had_  been looking at him and Blaine could no longer deny it considering his smiling, chiseled features were now less than two feet from Blaine’s face.   
  
“Uh, no. Hi. He’s just a friend. Or at least I thought he was.” Blaine’s last words came out heated under his breath.   
  
“In that case, I’m Jackson,” the man said, extending his hand.   
  
“Blaine. Good to meet you.” It was not, but Blaine had manners, and they would never allow him to affront a polite stranger.   
  
“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean you’re single?”  
  
“No, I’m married—well, separated,” Blaine explained casually. “That’s why I’m out, really. Our kids, Tori and Bertie, are back with him—Kurt—this week.” Blaine was talking animatedly with his hands. Maybe this meeting new people thing was easier than he thought. “Would you like to see pictures--of the kids, of course--not Kurt?” Blaine pulled his phone from the pocket of his blazer and began thumbing through the photo album. “Although, I do have some of him. He’s beautiful.”   
  
“Uh, no thanks, Blaine,” Jackson said, rising from his stool. “You have a nice night.”  
  
“But I just found the pictures…” Blaine’s voice faded as Jackson hurried away. Blaine’s face wore a confused expression and his hand was still outstretched and clutching his phone when Mike reappeared looking frustrated.   
  
“Where did he go? What did you do?” Mike questioned in a conspiratorial tone.   
  
“Nothing,” Blaine said adamantly.   
  
“Well then, what happened?” Mike asked, placing his hands on own his hips.  
  
“He asked if I was single and –“  
  
“You didn’t,” Mike said, dropping his head.   
  
“Didn’t what?” Blaine asked, confused.   
  
“You told him about Kurt didn’t you?”  
  
“And Tori and Bertie. Yes.” Blaine nodded as though this was obvious. “What’s the problem?”  
  
“You can’t say things like that?”  
  
“Why not? It’s the truth.”  
  
“You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” Mike said empathetically.   
  
“I told you!” Blaine said, throwing up his hands in exasperation, knocking over his drink in the process.  
Mike chuckled, shook his head, and asked the bartender for napkins. This was going to take a lot more work.   
  
~  
  
 ** _Tuesday, May 6, 2031 (Present: Ten days later)_**  
  
“I saw you from across the bar and noticed your drink was empty. Mind if I fill it?”  
  
“I can’t.” Blaine was fighting an unsuccessful battle with a strong case of the giggles.   
  
“Blaine!” Mike exclaimed, breaking character.   
  
“This is just too weird,” Blaine managed through breathy laughter. Blaine had never known how to react to cheesy pick up lines, they had always made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, and they were even more unbearable coming from a close friend.   
  
“Blaine, you need practice and this is the only way,” Mike said, reiterating the reason they were doing these, admittedly silly, role plays.   
  
Blaine had never been what one would call a “smooth operator,” and he certainly wasn’t one for game playing. He always listened to and spoke from his heart. It had worked with Kurt 20 years ago in the Dalton common room. Why change a winning strategy? However, according to Mike, these days, honesty was not the best policy when trying to get someone to fall for you. Apparently, you couldn’t just have a casual conversation with a stranger – you had to woo them, impress them. Mike said this process often involved a bit of braggadocio, heavy innuendo, and a willingness to bend the truth. If lying was what the new generation of dating required, Blaine wasn’t sure he wanted to be involved. But, Blaine trusted Mike, and if Mike said this was what he needed, then Blaine would do it.   
  
“Fine, fine,” Blaine said, straightening his face. “Sure. Whiskey sour.”  
  
“Whiskey sour it is,” Mike said, tapping Blaine’s kitchen counter to request another drink from the imaginary bartender. “So, what brings a handsome fellow like you out to the bar?”  
  
“Well, it’s not my week with the kids—“  
  
“Try again,” Mike corrected.  
  
“I’m currently separated.”  
  
“Again.”  
  
“Oh, ya know…” Blaine paused, at a loss of what to say if the truth was off limits, “just looking to get out.”  
  
“Better, but you should flirt a little more,” Mike coached.   
  
“Looking to find someone like you,” Blaine cooed, leaning in and cocking an eyebrow.  
  
“Whoa, Anderson! Where’d you get that line?” Mike said, a bit shocked but impressed.   
  
“Trashy, reality TV. Kurt liked to watch. And it’s Anderson-Hummel,” Blaine corrected.   
  
“Aaand, back to square one.”  
  
~  
  
 ** _Saturday, May 24, 2031 (Present:  Nearly three weeks later)_**  
  
“I’m ready.” Blaine was literally bouncing on the tips of his toes, shaking his hands at his sides. He looked like a boxer preparing to enter the ring, except instead of an oversized full-body hoodie, he was wearing a fitted waistcoat over a designer button down, topped with an impeccable bow tie, and covered in a sleek jacket.   
  
“You’re ready,” Coach Mike assured, rubbing Blaine’s shoulders from behind as they both stood on a New York City street corner, staring up at the bar sign.   
  
“I’m not ready,” Blaine said, promptly deflating and turning to face Mike.   
  
“Trust me, Blaine, you’re ready.” Mike encouraged, turning Blaine again to face the bar. “After our last practice session  _I,_  was ready to go home with you.” Blaine dropped his head and let out a few embarrassed chuckles. “Get in there. Have fun. Call me in the morning.”  
  
Blaine’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Wait. You’re not coming?”  
  
“No, not this time. You don’t need me. And…I need to get home.”  
  
“Oh, I see, you met someone didn’t you?” Blaine teased.   
  
“Maybe I did,” Mike said coyly. “And so will you. Now go.” Mike gave Blaine his last little push out of the nest, and turned to go.   
  
~  
  
The place was packed -- bodies everywhere.  _Okay, Blaine, just follow directions._  
  
 _Step one: go to the bar._  
  
Blaine made his way awkwardly through the crowd, his posture straightening and his confidence growing, feeling a few lingering eyes as he passed.   
  
 _Step two: order a drink._  
  
Blaine dutifully waited for his whiskey sour and then began drinking from it in earnest. If he was going to do this alone, his courage would have to come in liquid form.   
  
 _Step three: look attractive and available._  
  
Mike had told him he had the first one down and the truth of the second was still a pain he carried in his gut. No more effort needed there, thankfully.  
  
 _Step four: wait._  
  
He and Mike had decided that waiting was the best course of action. Blaine’s history of pursuit indicated a tendency to projectile word vomit all of his feelings onto the object of his affection, or at least that was what he remembered from “The Bullfrog” and Kurt.  _Stop thinking about Kurt_. So, Blaine waited. He was good at that. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long.   
  
“Hi there,” said the slender package adorned with dark brown hair and green eyes.   
  
“Hello,” Blaine smiled back. Manners were something he never had to actively remember. “I’m Blaine,” he said, offering his hand.  
  
“I’m Chase,” the man said, and they shook. “Mind if I get you a drink?”  
  
“You can do whatever you like.” Blaine hated this whole game, the lines, the awkward and overt flirting, but Mike had coached him well. However, though he was new to the game, he could not help questioning whether lines like that actually worked.  
  
“Mmm, forward. I like it.” Well…apparently they did work.  
  
Two drinks later, Blaine was finally relaxing. Chase was actually nice, interesting, and good looking, though not beautiful in the same way as Kurt.  _Stop thinking about Kurt._  
  
Four drinks in: Chase was downright hilarious, and Blaine’s boisterous laughter was drawing stares.   
  
“You wanna get outta here?” Chase casually offered.   
  
“Yeah!” Blaine said without hesitation, still chuckling and slightly wobbly.   
  
However, once in the cab, Blaine’s previous gales of laughter morphed into nervous, insecure giggles. Chase’s flattery was rapidly becoming less innocent and more eager. Chase was a gentleman, but it was clear where things were headed and Blaine was not sure he was ready to follow where Chase was leading.  
  
“Ya know, I’d seen you in there before but never worked up the courage to talk to you,” Chase said, scooting into Blaine’s space in the backseat of the cab, placing his hand on Blaine’s upper thigh.   
  
“Oh?” Blaine’s anxiety forced his voice into his upper register.   
  
“Yeah,” Chase breathed. “I’m really glad this is happening.” Chase continued to move closer to Blaine and it seemed he was about to begin working on Blaine’s neck when he caught sight of Blaine’s eyes looking into the cab driver’s which were trained on them through the rearview mirror. Changing his trajectory, Chase whispered instead into Blaine’s ear, “I can’t wait to get you home and out of that bow tie.” Blaine’s eyes went wide.   
  
All too soon, Chase was making good on his word. Blaine was on Chase’s couch, Chase was on Blaine, and Blaine was on edge. Chase’s fingers deftly loosened Blaine’s bow tie and worked open Blaine’s collar to make room for Chase’s mouth. With that task complete, Chase’s hands found their way to Blaine’s hips and began tugging at his shirt to reveal Blaine’s muscled torso.   
  
 _Let it happen. Let it happen_. Blaine was trying to relax. This is what Mike told him he needed. But it felt so foreign. These were not Kurt’s hands. This was not Kurt’s mouth. This was not Kurt. It had only ever been Kurt. It would always be Kurt. This was wrong.   
  
“Chase?” Blaine managed, trying to pull himself out from under Chase.   
  
“What is it?” Chase asked quickly before taking a deep breath and returning to Blaine’s now exposed collar bone.   
  
“I can’t do this,” Blaine said apologetically, managing to push Chase away and sit up in the corner of the couch.   
Chase looked stung and confused but backed off.   
  
“What’s the problem? Are we moving too fast? I thought this was what you wanted.”  
  
“I wanted it to be.” Blaine dropped his head into his hands. “But it’s not…and I can’t.”  
  
“I…I really like you, Blaine,” Chase confessed gently. “We can slow down, if that’s what you need.”  
  
 _I need Kurt_. “I’m sorry, Chase. You’re very nice, but my heart isn’t in this.”  
  
“I see,” Chase said, looking away. “Someone else?”  
  
“The only one…”  
  
Chase nodded gravely, understanding. Then Chase stood, retrieved Blaine’s jacket, and walked him to the door. “Blaine?” Chase began tentatively, “this guy…this someone. I hope you work it out.”  
  
“Thank you. Me too.”  
  
~  
  
Blaine had not even bothered to take off his jacket and shoes before collapsing into the folds of his sheets. Was this how his nights would end from now on – alone in bed – the ultimate symbol of loneliness? Blaine missed companionship. There was nothing like going to bed and waking up with his lover in his arms because even their unconscious minds clung to one another. Blaine had been sure of that since the first time, the first night he had shared his bed. That had been it for him.   
  
***  
  
 ** _Friday, November 11, 2011 (Past: Nineteen years ago)_**  
  
Kurt and Blaine lay facing each other, their warm, naked, sweat-tacky bodies tangled in Blaine’s sheets. Blaine reached out, tightened his arms around Kurt and rolled onto his back, bringing Kurt with him, settling Kurt astride his hips. Blaine was realizing quickly that he liked this – the pressure of Kurt’s body on his, Kurt looming over him, staring into his eyes. Kurt was a vision, the dim light of the room cascading over his shoulders as the light from Kurt’s brilliant blue eyes washed over him, the sheets pooled around Kurt’s hips at the meeting of their bodies.   
  
“I love you.” Blaine had lost count of how many times he had said those words and their countless variations in the last three hours, but a truth so strong always bore repeating.   
  
“I love you too,” Kurt whispered, and even though his lips were sore from hours spent against and inside Blaine’s mouth, he bent down again to kiss him. Kurt fell into the kiss, resting his chest against Blaine’s and stretching his legs out so that he was prone on top of Blaine, his legs between Blaine’s.   
  
“I’m so glad we waited,” Blaine breathed when they finally broke apart, running his fingers lazily through Kurt’s damp hair.   
  
“Mmm hmm,” Kurt hummed into Blaine’s neck.   
  
“I’m glad it was you,” Blaine confessed softly.   
Kurt pressed his body onto Blaine’s, trying to communicate his agreement body to body, pore to pore.   
  
“I only ever want it to be you,” Blaine whispered, “forever.”  
  
Kurt began to shift slowly, each movement a chore for his spent muscles, but for this, for Blaine, he would find the pleasure in the pain. Kurt lifted himself slightly and pressed his lips to Blaine’s. Feeling Kurt’s moist eyelashes brush against his cheek, Blaine took Kurt’s face into his hands and looked into his eyes.   
  
“Kurt, are you okay? What is it?” Blaine’s eyes were wide and brimming with concern.  
  
“I just…I…” and Kurt surged forward, breaking free of Blaine’s grip and kissing him with a ferocity Blaine had never felt before; all teeth, and tongue, and tears. Blaine welcomed the intensity, dug his fingers into Kurt’s shoulder blades, and interlocked his ankles at the meeting of Kurt’s thighs. Kurt was all at once inside, on top of, and around Blaine so that Blaine felt he was inside Kurt as well, enveloped in his essence as they made love for what was not the first nor the last time that night.   
  
***  
  
 _ **Sunday, May 25, 2031 (Present: Early the next morning)**  
_  
Blaine had not remembered falling asleep that night, but he would never forget waking up the next morning with Kurt’s warmth assuring him that the dream of the night before had been real. Each subsequent morning waking up to Kurt had been a continuation of the same dream. But now, Kurt’s side of the bed was cold and empty, just like his life.   
  
Blaine’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft buzzing against his chest. He retrieved the vibrating phone from his jacket pocket. It was Kurt. It was nearly 2am. Why was he calling? Blaine answered the phone in a panic, “What is it Kurt? Is everything okay?”  
  
“Uhh…yeah…I didn’t think you would answer…I was just going to leave a message.”  
  
Blaine sighed with relief, “Well, I’m awake, and I answered. What do you need?”  
  
“I…umm…I was calling about Bertie’s sippy cup. I can’t find it.”  
  
“I put it in the right, outside pocket of his diaper bag,” Blaine recited mechanically.  
  
“Oh, okay, let me check.” Moments passed in silence. “Oh, there it is. Found it.”  
  
“Good. Do you need anything else?” Blaine asked, allowing himself to rise, break the surface of the pain, and hope.   
  
“No, but...umm…why are you still up?  
  
“It’s not really any of your business, Kurt, but I was out,” Blaine said flatly.  
  
“Out? Where? What do you mean it’s not my business?” Kurt demanded, indignant. “We may be separated but I’m still your husband, Blaine.”  
  
Suddenly, a harsh realization yanked Blaine back beneath the surface of the pain: he could not accept the dream was over because he was still lying in bed, eyes clutched tight, trying to will himself back into a dream that had long faded into the folds of his memory. It was over. It was time to get out of bed.   
  
“No, Kurt. No, you’re not. You haven’t been for a while,” Blaine said, his voice heavy with heartbreak.   
  
“Blaine, don’t say that. It’s not true. We can make this work. I just need you to—if you could just listen.”  
  
“You need to wake up, Kurt. I finally have. Goodnight.”  
The phone clicked with deafening finality.


	8. Vows

**Saturday, October 10, 2021 (Past: nearly ten years ago)**

Blaine was drunk. He had not meant to be. He had been nervous – not about marrying Kurt, never about marrying Kurt – but about the impending explosion. Between Blaine’s father, the 49% of Ohioans that had voted against the recently passed marriage equality initiative, and the sheer magnitude and spectacle of a Kurt Hummel-Wedding Planner Extraordinaire-Affair, something was bound to go wrong.

Now, resting his dizzy head on Kurt’s impeccably clad shoulder, his stomach suddenly especially sensitive to the rapid, upward motion of the elevator currently carrying them to the [Presidential Suite](http://www.starwoodhotels.com/westin/property/photos/index.html?propertyID=1045#photo_section_2Link) of [The Westin Columbus](http://www.starwoodhotels.com/westin/property/photos/index.html?propertyID=1045#photo_section_1Link), Blaine realized that there was never a reason to worry as long as he was with Kurt: which meant, Blaine never had to worry again because, while his mind was currently a bit murky, he was certain that a few hours ago he and Kurt had promised each other forever.

~

“Blaine are you sure you should—“ Cooper’s warning glare cut off Mike’s question.

“What?” Blaine asked, lowering his drink. Mike turned to Eddie, Blaine’s college buddy, business partner, and best man, for a second opinion, and the small, almost imperceptible shake of Eddie’s head, closed Mike’s gaping mouth and Mike instead answered Blaine with a silent shrug.

“Nothing, tri-brows,” Santana answered. “You just drink up,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

Blaine and his half of the wedding party had been sequestered in this suite for the past two hours and the anxiety was getting to Blaine. Not content to just sit and watch as Blaine descended into madness; about an hour ago Artie had whispered to Santana and suggested she make Blaine a drink. Blaine had accepted it gladly and had been content to sip from it occasionally until about seven minutes ago when Cooper had returned from his fourth venture to the lobby shaking his head: their father still had not arrived. Now, Blaine was gulping in earnest.

“He’ll come, B. Don’t worry,” Cooper comforted as Blaine sat the empty tumbler on the dresser.

“And if he doesn’t?” Blaine asked timidly, his eyes betraying his sadness.

“Then fuck him,” Cooper said dryly.

“Preach!” Artie chimed.

Blaine huffed out a laugh, dropped his head, and smirked despite himself.

“This day is about you and Kurt,” Cooper continued. “If he can’t accept that, then he shouldn’t be here anyway.”

“Mmm hmm,” Artie hummed his agreement.

“I know…but…I just thought…it’s been ten years,” Blaine confessed.

“And that’s what you should focus on right now – the time you and Kurt have shared,” Santana counseled.

“Thanks, San. You’re right.”

“Auntie Tana always is,” she smirked.  “Anyway, have another drink; I’m gonna go see Brit and check on Lady Lips.” Blaine rolled his eyes, having long ago learned that these “nicknames” were how Santana showed affection. “You boys take care of this one,” she said, eyeing Cooper, Eddie, Mike and Artie. “And don’t worry,” she said, turning back to Blaine. “I won’t tell him you’re nervous.”

“I’m not,” Blaine said immediately.

“You sure seem like it, dude,” Eddie slipped, always too honest for his own good.

“Well, I mean, of course I’m nervous, but not about marrying Kurt,” Blaine explained. “Knowing Kurt’s somewhere in this building and that I’m going to marry him is the only thing keeping me calm actually,” Blaine revealed, the blush on his cheeks and dreamy, far away grin, having nothing to do with the alcohol.

“From frantic to sickeningly in love in seconds,” Cooper deadpanned. “He’s fine, Santana. The quicker we get these two married off, the better. Go see your lady.”

~

Santana heard Kurt before she saw him. His high-pitched, breathy commands could be heard from the elevator.

“Rachel, please call the caterer and make sure they keep the pate on ice,” Kurt rapidly instructed. “Where’s the photographer? Tina, will you make sure he knows to get shots from the balcony above us?”

“Whoa, Hummel,” Santana said, entering the room, “and I thought Blaine was bad!”

Carole, who was sitting on the edge of the bed between Burt and Finn watching Kurt pace back and forth across the hotel room rattling off a litany of last minute worries, clasped her hand to her face. Why had Santana said such a thing?

“What? What do you mean?” Kurt snapped. “Is he okay? Is he thinking of backing out? He can’t! He wouldn’t!”

“God, no, priss pants,” Santana said nonchalantly. “Marrying you is about the only thing he’s looking forward to right now, seeing as it looks like his pops isn’t making an appearance,” she finished casually, walking over to where Brittany was standing and slipping her arms around her waist.

“No,” Burt said in disbelief. “He’s  _still_  not here?” Burt asked, getting up from the bed. “I’m gonna go check on the kid.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt said.

“See you on the other side, buddy,” Burt said, hugging Kurt and leaving.

“I can’t believe his dad isn’t going to come to his own son’s wedding,” Tina commented, outraged, looking up from where she was applying Rachel’s makeup.

“I know right? And miss the dancing?” Brittany added simply, earning a kiss on the cheek from Santana for her efforts.

“Great! This is exactly what we need on top of everything!” Kurt huffed irritably, renewing his pacing. Finn’s eyes darted back and forth, following Kurt around the room.

“Sit down, hon,” Mercedes soothed, patting the spot on the bed next to Rachel, who was sitting stiffly, afraid one false move might make Tina poke her eye out with the pencil she was using to apply Rachel’s eyeliner. “You always knew it was going to be hard doing this here. Blaine’s dad is just another one of the ignorant 49% that populate this place, baby.”

“Like that damn florist that kicked me and Kurt out after she realized that not only was I  _not_  the bride, but that there was no bride,” Rachel piped, now that Tina had moved on to her blush.

“You got in a good storm out, though,” Finn offered.

“Oh, of course,” Rachel said, jutting out her chin indignantly and earning a frustrated look from Tina.

“We had a few, actually,” Kurt whispered, his eyes downcast.

“Well, don’t you worry about those ignorant people, honey,” Carole encouraged. “You and Blaine are perfect and this day will be perfect.”

Carole was right on both accounts.

~

The [Grand Ballroom](http://www.westincolumbus.com/gallery/weddings) of The Westin Columbus was immaculate. Kurt had chosen it for its high ceilings and gilded décor. Blaine loved the floor to ceiling windows and Kurt – he would have married Kurt anywhere. The room was dressed in shimmering [champagne](http://i.ebayimg.com/t/SILK-CHARMEUSE-SATIN-CREAMY-LT-CHAMPAGNE-FABRIC-4yd-/09/!Bm!GkvwBmk~%24\(KGrHqYOKigEtlH3QyZMBLeBlehW3Q~~_35.JPG) and [ivory](http://content.vcommerce.com/products/406/49133406/fullsize.jpg): if Mercedes was the ebony, then Blaine was certainly the champagne to Kurt’s ivory. The [focal point](http://www.westincolumbus.com/gallery) of the Grand Ballroom was a majestic inset, the stark white molding outlining the rectangular frame offset by the deep gold embellishments decorating the wall.  The walls of the inset were basically windows, softly draped in sparkling champagne and ivory, stretched from the ceiling of the opposite wall, creating a sweeping canopy under which Kurt and Blaine would stand, before the fabric reached the windows and cascaded, billowing to the marble floor. The inset revealed a second floor balcony, which allowed guests to look down over the railing onto the spot where Kurt and Blaine would begin their lives together.

Facing this scene, sat each of the nearly four hundred chairs, covered in ivory and enveloped by a champagne sash knotted in the back and adorned with white roses. These chairs were occupied now by the friends and family Kurt and Blaine had amassed during their years together. After much thought, Kurt and Blaine had decided that they would not have the traditional separate sides or center aisle. Instead, everyone they loved and cherished would sit as one, side by side, as Kurt and Blaine stood side by side and became one. So, Tiffany, Shantell, and Lee, Kurt’s first employees and fast friends at his little boutique, sat directly next to Eddie’s mom and dad, and directly in front of Wes, Thad, David, and Trent – the Warblers with which Blaine had never lost touch. A few rows ahead of them were Tina and Mike’s parents, anxious to see their granddaughter, Michel, act as flower girl. Mercedes’ mother, Ms. Jones, and a few members from her church, sat in the same row as Sue Sylvester, which was thankfully on the opposite side of the ballroom from Emma and Will Schuester.  

Beyond familiar faces from their past, the room also held new people of note – a few fledgling pop stars who owed their budding fame to Blaine’s gift for song writing, and several members of Congress who had been lured from Washington to Ohio by Burt’s constant gushing over his son and future son-in-law. No matter how they had come to know and love Kurt and Blaine, they all were there to celebrate their union, the inevitability of which had always been clear. So, at exactly 5 P.M. when a man of few words, appearing to be in his early sixties, sat at the [piano](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wLvDXVP0O4) and placed his fingers upon the keys, every head turned toward the doorway at the back right of the ballroom to see the woman whose raspy alto voice rose above the soft hum of the audience and filled the room.

“We were strangers starting out on a journey,” Santana sang as she walked down the right aisle, in step with the beat. “Never dreaming what we’d have to go through.”

“Now here we are and I’m suddenly standing at the beginning with you.” All eyes were now on Brittany, who had just appeared in the opposite aisle, joining in the song, eyes and feet in sync with Santana’s as they proceeded down their respective aisles.

 “No one told me I was going to find you,” Santana answered. “Unexpected what you did to my heart.” Brittany and Santana locked eyes across the audience as they sang the next lines in harmony, “When I lost hope you were there to remind me this is the start.”

The crowd quickly realized they were not only being treated to a processional but also a performance, when Santana and Brittany were followed by Artie and Mercedes who picked up the vocals, blending with Santana and Brittany for the chorus:

And life is a road and I want to keep going  
Love is a river I want to keep flowing  
Life is a road now and forever  
A wonderful journey

I'll be there when the world stops turning  
I'll be there when the storm is through  
In the end I wanna be standing  
At the beginning with you

Tina was next, proceeding up the aisle behind Mercedes. Her soft, ethereal voice sang, “We were strangers on a crazy adventure.

“Never dreaming how our dreams would come true.” Mike sang back to her from the opposite aisle.

“Now here we stand unafraid of the future, at the beginning with you,” the blend of Mike and Tina’s voices was perfected by years of marriage.

They were followed by Finn and Cooper, their strong tenors joining the chorus. The two were halfway up their aisles, when all eyes and ears were captured and dragged again to the back left of the hall by Rachel Berry’s strong soprano as she belted, “I knew there was somebody somewhere like me alone in the dark.”

Eddie, a man of formidable vocal talent in his own right, a prerequisite for him being Blaine’s best man and therefore paired with Rachel for the occasion, joined her in harmony, “I know that my dream will live on, I've been waiting so long. Nothing's gonna tear us apart.”

Finally, with the entirety of the adult wedding party congregated at the front of the hall, feet away from the spot that would be Kurt and Blaine’s beginning, they sang out the chorus once more as the flower girl, four-year old Michel, and the ring bearer, Cooper’s eight-year old son, Blake, made their ways down their respective aisles as fast as their short and nervous legs would carry them. Some members of the audience, particularly the pop divas and Trent, joined in the last few measures, as the music faded away and the a cappella voices supplied the last beautiful notes. As Rachel’s final, impressive note rose to the rafters, a silence fell over the crowd, and Tammy, the officiate of the ceremony, a petite, perky, African American woman dressed in her official judges’ robes, entered from the left side door. Taking her place front and center between the two wedding parties, the clicking of little Michel’s tiny heels, was the only sound as Tammy called for the audience to rise.

Then, gently, Brad [began to play](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5BNItJzaww). The melody was soft, familiar, yet new. All eyes were now focused on the two sets of double doors at the rear of either side of the Grand Ballroom. The left doors revealed Kurt, clutching his father’s hand and dressed in a stunning [ivory suit](http://i00.i.aliimg.com/wsphoto/v0/471896922/FREE-SHIPPING-Bridegroom-groomsmen-suits-mens-groom-wedding-dress-wear-suit-men-complete-designer-tuxedo-fashion.jpg) of his own creation, perfectly tailored, the beautiful champagne and gold detail and piping catching the light of the chandeliers.  Framed in the other doorway was Blaine, his [cream blazer](http://www.mensusa.com/images/JeanYves-Mirage-Tuxedo-Jacket-Ivory.jpg)opened slightly to reveal his deep [champagne waistcoat](http://www.tuxedos-and-more.com/images/Vest%20Set-Champagne.jpg), a matching [bow tie](http://www.suitauthority.com/products/FER/320/FER_GOLD_PRN_BOWTIE.jpg) fit snug in the collar of his white button up. Blaine’s mother, Camille, stood by her son’s side in the flattering dress she had purchased especially for this occasion, her arm looped through his. The two couples stepped over the threshold and Blaine and Kurt’s eyes immediately found each other’s.

Kurt had never been more stunningly beautiful. There was no other word for it, and Blaine’s expression was enough to reveal that he would have been incapable of verbally communicating even if such a word existed. Kurt gave Blaine a wide smile and a soft wave of his finger tips from where they rested, steady and still, at his side. Stealing excited glances at each other through the crowd, Kurt and Blaine took the last steps they would ever take apart.

Not a minute too soon, Kurt and Blaine were standing face to face, ready. This was real. They would never look back. At Tammy’s motion, the crowd sat, and the keys of the piano stilled, the final note drowned by Blaine’s racing heart. His mother’s arm, acting as an anchor, was the only thing keeping Blaine from hopping excitedly on the balls of his feet.

“We have gathered here today, to witness the union of Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson,” Tammy began, reading from the notes Kurt and Blaine had written, “In the course of life, one is lucky to find another to love. One is  _blessed_ if, through that love, life is given to another. One is  _privileged_ , if one lives to witness that life also find a love. Here to speak of that privilege, are Blaine’s mother, Camille, and Kurt’s father, Burt.” Camille released Blaine’s arm as Eddie placed a microphone into her shaky hand.  She turned to face the crowd.

“Being a mother is not easy,” she began, comforted by a few nodding heads in the room. “It is fraught with fear and worry: fear that you might fail your child and worry that the world will. All you want is for your child to be healthy and find happiness.” Camille paused, took a deep breath, and grabbed Blaine’s hand. “When Blaine told me that he was gay, I was not afraid, because I knew I would always love him. But as I watched as his health and happiness were stolen, I worried that the world would never love him.” This time it was Blaine who squeezed her hand as she took another steadying breath. “That was until Blaine met Kurt and I realized that Blaine didn’t need to the world to love him, he only needed one person to love him. There’s no doubt in my mind that person is and has always been Kurt,” Camille said, now turning to him. “Kurt, I know you will give him the world, and no matter what it throws at you two, you will face it together.” Returning her misty gaze to the crowd, she continued, “Because Blaine found Kurt, I have nothing to fear. Because they are together, I no longer worry. I love you both,” Camille finished, taking two steps toward Kurt and wiping the lone tear from his cheek before lifting herself onto the tips of her toes and replacing it with a kiss. Then, she turned, took Blaine into her arms and hugged him the way she had always wanted to and vowed to from now on. Emboldened by the sincerity of the moment, she whispered into Blaine’s ear, “Dad loves you too.”

Still slightly shaking, Camille took her seat front and center. Blaine’s tear filled eyes followed her and lingered momentarily on the conspicuously empty seat at her side before focusing on Burt, the man he had long thought of as his father – the man who was about to become his father.

For a seasoned politician, who had won multiple elections, Burt’s nerves were certainly showing as he fumbled with the microphone, cleared his throat, and straightened his tie with a nervous laugh before beginning. “Kurt and Blaine…Blaine and Kurt…what can I say?” A light chuckle rippled through the crowd. “It’s been a long time, but I’ll never forget that first day Kurt came home smiling. If you knew Kurt before Blaine, you understand how huge that is. The world can be a shitty place – excuse me,” he apologized quickly before continuing undeterred, “and it was especially cruel to Kurt. And it took me longer than I’d like to admit to completely warm to the reality of who Kurt was…is…but I always loved him and was firmly in his corner,” Burt said adamantly.

“I’ll never forget the day, in that tire shop, over nine years ago, when I looked up from a broken carburetor to find I wasn’t alone – Blaine was there too.” Burt smiled warmly and Blaine dropped his head, hiding an embarrassed but flattered grin. “And through the years we’ve been in that corner together, cheering Kurt on. And Blaine has been a great corner man, but it’s time for him to become a son. Officially.” Burt directed the last word at Blaine, before turning back to the crowd. “I had a scare once: the big guy tried to take me, but I told him I couldn’t go. I wouldn’t leave Kurt alone. Ever since, I’ve felt like I’ve been living on borrowed time.

“In that time, Kurt has gained a mother, a brother, and today he’ll gain a husband. I’m thankful I could be here, on this side, to see it.  And when my time comes and I go to that big tire shop in the sky,” Burt said turning to Kurt, “I can’t wait to sit down to tea with your mother and hear it all from her side. Because, I know she’s watching,” he said, taking Kurt’s hand. “I know she approves, and I know she loves you both, as much as I do, because every time Blaine makes you smile, I can hear her cheering.” Burt’s voice broke then, and it was through tears that he said, “She’s especially loud today. So, let’s get this show on the road. We shouldn’t keep her waiting,” Burt finished, handing his microphone to Rachel, wiping his tears, and taking his seat in the front row next to a tearful Carole who clutched his hand in both of hers.

“Well you heard the man,” Tammy began, clearing her voice of tears. “Let’s make this happen. Kurt, Blaine, please follow me.” Following her directions, Kurt and Blaine took two steps toward each other, intertwined their fingers, and briefly turned their backs on the crowd, walking past their wedding party composed of friends and family, up the steps, and onto the raised platform.

Now, slightly elevated so that the entirety of the room could see them, Kurt and Blaine stood between the officiate and the assembled crowd, facing each other, both their hands extended and enveloped in each other’s.

“When I first met Kurt and Blaine three years ago,” Tammy began, “I immediately knew the one thing everyone knows when they see these two: Kurt and Blaine are two halves of the same soul. They were made to love each other. It’s a fact so strong, so true, that it cannot be ignored. There has never been a day when Kurt and Blaine have not loved each other. We are all here today, to witness them make a promise to each other, their friends and family, that there will never be such a day.” Tammy continued, “As is their way, Kurt and Blaine have chosen to express this with a song. As neither of them thought themselves capable of making it through a song at this moment, they ask that you give your kind attention to Cooper Anderson, Blaine’s brother and one of his closest friends, as he expresses Kurt and Blaine’s story, their truth, their promise, in song.”

Eddie passed the microphone to Cooper, and Cooper took the few steps down to stand, centered, in front of the crowd. Cooper nodded to Brad at the piano, who began to softly [play the melody](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zan5S0rETY) as Cooper’s vibrato filled the hall.

I do not know a day I did not love you

I can't remember love not being there

The planting when the earth ran through your fingers

The harvest when the sun danced in your hair

 

I do not know a day I did not need you

For sharing every moment that I spent

I needed you before I ever knew you

Before I knew what needing someone meant

 

And if we ever were to have tomorrow

One fact alone is full and filled with song

You will not know a day I do not love you

The way that I have loved you all our lives

 

As Cooper surrendered the microphone, the applause drowned the sound of the opening and closing of a door at the rear of the hall. But the sound could not mask the movement which caught Cooper’s eye and caused a relieved smile to form at his lips. However, Blaine, all his focus on the beautiful man standing before him, remained oblivious to the lone figure standing in the back of the room.

The crowd quieted as Tammy’s voice signaled the continuation of the ceremony. “Marriage is a commitment, a choice, a promise to wake up every day and love. For Kurt and Blaine, love is not a noun; it is a verb – an action they freely and knowingly take each day they awake to each other. Today, they have made the choice to write the promise of their commitment in their own words. These are their vows.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Kurt closed his eyes, inhaled, and then gently stroked Blaine’s knuckles with his thumb. They stood like that, suspended in the moment, until Kurt opened his eyes once more to take in Blaine, and finally spoke. “Blaine. Throughout my life, the world has told me to tone down, to be less, to show less, and for a time, I admit, I tried. I dealt with it. I took the pain and no one noticed. But then I saw you, and you saw me, really  _saw_  me. And I felt it, my love for you,” Kurt’s voice was an airy whisper and his eyes were deep and serious. “It was something I couldn’t control, I couldn’t tone it down, and I didn’t want to. And when I found out you loved me too, I realized I didn’t have to. I could love you freely, completely.

“Loving you gave me the courage to love me,  _all_  of me, because that’s how much I love you – with all of me. Loving you has become so much of who I am, that I can’t help but embrace all of me, the way you do.

“Blaine, you are my dream, and the first one I ever had that came true,” a tear escaped Kurt’s shining eyes, but he would not let go of Blaine’s hands to wipe it away. “And because of you, all of my other dreams have come true. Ever since you came into my life, I’ve been pinching myself, convinced that one day, I’d wake up because a life like mine and a love like ours just doesn’t happen. It really is the stuff of dreams.” Kurt smiled endearingly at Blaine and as he spoke again, the smile remained in his eyes. “So, today, I promise to never stop dreaming. I’ll never pinch you, never shake you awake. I won’t even set an alarm, because the life, the dream we’ve made together is too incredible to ever leave. I vow to never get out of this bed we’re making today. I will lay in it with you until we’re old, you’ve stopped dyeing and gelling your grey hair, my perfectly moisturized skin finally succumbs to wrinkles, and we pass into next dream, whatever it may be, together.

”Thank you for giving me a reason to dream.”  

Kurt finished, and Tammy waited a second to give everyone a moment to compose themselves, as Rachel and Tina were now crying in earnest, and Carole was passing a tissue over Burt to Camille. When some semblance of composure had reestablished itself in the room, Tammy nodded to Blaine, who cleared his throat and began.

“Kurt, I’ll never forget the day you turned to me in that dingy square we called our kitchen in our tiny apartment and said, ‘How about October? I’m thinking fall colors. And no, we can’t have a Halloween theme.’” Blaine chuckled along with the crowd as Kurt smiled fondly at the memory. “You always do that – say the most profound and life altering things as though they’re the most mundane things in the world. But there’s nothing mundane about our love. It took me a little longer than you to realize that.

“When you met me at the foot of those stairs so many years ago, you were ready and deep down, I was too, but I kept you waiting. When I finally opened my eyes and realized that what I’d been waiting for all my life had been staring at me with your eyes for months, I vowed I’d never keep you waiting again. So, I’m always ready, and thus I’m always waiting. And you always turn to me at the right moment and tell me it’s time.

“It was the right time on that staircase. It was the right time in that kitchen. It’s the right time now. It will always be the right time, as long as I’m with you.” Blaine’s eyes were wide and overflowing with the love that was now also spilling from his heart and mouth.

“So, I stand here today, in front of our friends, family, and whatever higher power that deemed me worthy of you, and declare that I’ll always be here waiting – waiting to wipe your tears, waiting to share in your victories and plot revenge after a defeat, waiting for you to get out of the shower in the morning so that I can dirty you before work, and waiting to rub your feet when you return home. And I would wait a lifetime, if it meant I could live another, and begin and end it with you, for my love for you does not adhere to the pretense of life and death or space and time. My love exists in its own reality where you are the only thing that is real – the only thing that matters. I promise that no matter where life takes you, my love will always be real, it will always be there, waiting.”

The look Kurt and Blaine were sharing was so intimate, so raw, the entirety of the room felt as though they were intruding. Tammy, who was closest, turned away briefly and wiped her tears. Once she felt she must continue to push the ceremony forward, she whispered, “The rings please.” Cooper gave little Blake a tap on the back, and Blake stumbled forward, presenting the pillow on which the rings lay to Rachel and Eddie. Tammy gestured to the rings held in Rachel and Eddie’s hands and declared, “These rings represent Kurt and Blaine’s love, which has no beginning and no end. It simply is and always will be.” Tammy focused her gaze on Kurt and asked, “Kurt, do you take Blaine to be your husband? Do you promise to love him as he loves you, completely, and without reservation, forever?”

Kurt took the platinum band from Rachel’s hand, and looked directly into Blaine’s eyes, as he slipped the ring onto his finger and said, “I do, and I have, always.”

“I thought so,” Tammy quipped with a smile, before addressing the same question to Blaine, who barely let her finish before declaring, “I do. Forever.” and sliding the matching band onto Kurt’s finger. Tammy giggled and said, “Now that’s settled, you may kiss.”

Everyone was on their feet cheering, but for Kurt and Blaine the world disappeared as it always did whenever their lips met. For Blaine, there was nothing but the curve of Kurt’s chin, the flutter of his eyelashes, and the thrust of his tongue, as Kurt slipped further into the dream, his arms wrapped around Blaine as if trying to drag him beneath the covers where they could hide from the world together. But in this moment, in this room, they did not have to hide, and everyone bore witness to and felt the strength and truth of Kurt and Blaine’s love.

As Kurt and Blaine finally broke apart, it was Mercedes’ voice that filled the room with song. Up in the balcony, backed by her church choir, donning robes of ivory and champagne for the occasion, her voice floated down upon them as she declared in [song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1uunRdQ61M), “At last, my love has come along.”

Yes, at last Kurt and Blaine were one. Married. Husbands. While they had been together, living parallel lives for the past nine years, this was their beginning. They found their dream, and they were in Heaven, together at last.

The music faded, Mercedes bowed, and when Tammy proudly announced, “I now present to you Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt and Blaine forced themselves to turn from each other and face their cheering friends and family. Just before the standing throng blocked his view, Blaine caught a glimpse of the man still standing alone in the back of the hall, something like a smile on his lips. Blaine knew that smile, they he had not seen it often. It belonged to the man he was sure would never come—the man he needed to come—his father. Kurt was right: this was a dream from which he did not have to wake.

~

Miraculously, Kurt’s message to keep the pate on ice had reached the caterers. The food was perfect and there looked to be enough of it to feed their 300 plus guests, currently filling the reception hall, two times over. Blaine was thankful for Kurt’s tendency to over plan because Blaine’s anxiety had killed his appetite earlier in the day and now he was starving. However, as he was currently standing next to Kurt, his husband (wow, that felt good to say), greeting every single one of their guests in the receiving line on which Kurt had insisted (“It’s customary and polite”), Blaine was glad he could at least be certain there would be plenty of food left whenever he was able to finally tend to the embarrassing noises emanating from his stomach.  In the mean time, Blaine was subsisting on the glasses of champagne Rachel kept bringing him.

“Thank you so much for coming!” Kurt was saying again to Mercedes’ mother.

“It was a  _beautiful_ ceremony, Kurt. I’m so glad we were able to talk our church choir into performing.”

“As are we,” Kurt smiled. “They were wonderful.” Kurt hugged Ms. Jones and she shuffled off to find Mercedes.

It went on like that for nearly 45 minutes: smiling faces, teary eyes, warm hugs, and heartfelt words of congratulations. Blaine truly appreciated it and tried his best to be present in the moment with each guest, but the anticipation was affecting his concentration…the anticipation  _and_  the alcohol. Each subsequent face that was not his father’s weighed even more heavily on his already overworked nerves. As it turned out, the person Blaine most wanted to see was the last person he did –  _he_  was always last.

So it transpired that when the guest had all been greeted and were gorging themselves on the copious amounts of food, Kurt and Blaine found themselves standing in a corner alone with Blaine’s father, William Anderson.

“Kurt. Blaine,” Mr. Anderson said in his customary and formal greeting.

“Mr. Anderson,” Kurt nodded.

“Dad, I--,”

“Blaine, don’t,” Mr. Anderson interrupted. “It is my turn to speak.” He paused before continuing. “I’m glad I came today. I saw something I needed to see.” Mr. Anderson said in his business like tone. Then he paused, searched his son’s eyes and asked, “Blaine, you love Kurt don’t you?”

“With every part of me,” Blaine answered, his voice strong and clear.

“And Kurt,” Mr. Anderson said, turning to him, this one of a handful of instances in which he had acknowledged Kurt’s existence long enough to speak to him. “You love my son, don’t you?”

“More than anything,” Kurt said, glancing at Blaine, the truth of the words in his eyes.

Mr. Anderson stood looking at both of them for a moment, then turning to Blaine, he said, “And you know he loves you?”

“It’s the only thing I know for sure.”

“I thought so…and that’s all I need to know,” Mr. Anderson said softly, nodding his head once, before addressing his son again. “I may not like this,” he gestured to where Kurt and Blaine’s fingers were intertwined, “but I love you. And _he_  loves you, and you know it. That’s more than  _I_  could ever do for you.” William dropped his head momentarily and then continued. “That’s all I wanted for you…for you to know you were loved even if I couldn’t show it. If Kurt does that for you…well, then…I won’t stand in the way.” And then William Anderson did something he had never done before – he extended his hand to Kurt. Kurt faltered for a second, and then shook his hand. “Thank you Kurt…for loving my son.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir.”

William nodded and then took Blaine into his arms, hugging him. He hugged Blaine like he used to when Blaine was small and still fit the mold, the image, William had created in his mind. With his son in his arms, William whispered, “I love you, son. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Blaine breathed back, adding more tears to the well he had shed over his father, although these were different…happy.

“Good,” William said, pulling back, his face again serious, formal, such that if his face were the gauge, anyone walking by would have assumed they were simply discussing the weather. “Have a lovely night,” he said, turning to go.

“Dad? Aren’t you going to stay?”

“No, son,” Mr. Anderson muttered. “I don’t think that would be wise. I saw all I needed to. Your mother will fill me in on the rest.”

Blaine nodded solemnly.

“Enjoy your night, son.”

“Yes sir.”

And Blaine did just that. He shared his first dance with his husband. He smeared chocolate cake all over Kurt’s face and laughed boisterously as Kurt chased him around the reception hall, and when he finally allowed himself to be caught, pretended to fight as Kurt rubbed cake all the way up to his eyebrows. Afterward, just after Kurt had wiped the last bit of icing from his own cheek, Blaine, face still plastered with cake, grabbed Kurt and kissed him heartily, reapplying a sticky layer of icing to Kurt’s face in the process.

Later, shoulder to shoulder, Kurt and Blaine both threw the bouquet, which Mercedes elbowed others to catch. Finn found her later, clutching the flowers and Eddie’s face in a darkened corner.

It was a party of a magnitude worthy of the love it celebrated.  

It was not until many hours later, when the flames of the candles adorning each table flickered on the last of their wicks, that the party began to die down and inebriated well-wishers stumbled out to their cars. As the crowd dwindled, the DJ played on and Kurt sat at the head table, his head resting on Mercedes’ shoulder on his right, and his hand clutched in Rachel’s lap on his left. Finn, Cooper, Blaine and Eddie were still on the dance floor, Blaine’s fifth glass of champagne impairing his dancing skills so heavily that Finn almost looked as though he had rhythm.

“What are you thinking about?” Rachel asked after noticing Kurt’s far away smile.

“Just wondering how we got stuck with these fools,” Kurt grinned fondly, shaking his head as Blaine began swinging his undone bow tie over his head.

“Fate, Kurt,” Mercedes offered. “It was fate.”

“Well, if I ever meet fate,” Kurt let out a contented sighed. “I’ll be sure to thank her.”

Rachel squeezed Kurt’s hand and Mercedes stroked his back as they fell once again into a comfortable silence.

“Kurt!” Blaine called from the dance floor, wiggling his hips in Kurt’s direction. “Come dance with me!”

“You better go get him before he hurts himself,” Mercedes teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes but smiling as he rose to go retrieve Blaine.

Blaine was always so jovial and pliant when intoxicated and Kurt couldn’t help but chuckle as he draped one of Blaine’s arms over his shoulder, wrapped an arm around Blaine’s slender waist, and waving off help from Cooper and Eddie, led Blaine from the ballroom, through the lobby, and into the elevator, Blaine babbling through a goofy smile.

Kurt had just gotten them over the threshold of the Presidential Suite where they would sleep until the morning when they would board a plane for a destination Kurt hoped Blaine would still remember. Blaine had been in charge of planning the honeymoon and all he had told Kurt about their activities was that Kurt should pack for warm weather. Kurt thought about trying to wheedle it out of him now, but Blaine was more interested in spilling other, more important information.

“I’m so glad I met you that day on the stairs, Kurt,” Blaine muttered as Kurt led him into the bedroom and plopped him onto the bed. “You were so pretty, Kurt. Like a painting, or a sunset, or a painting of a sunset.” Kurt just shook his head and chuckled fondly as he removed Blaine’s shoes. “Did I ever tell you that was totally not a short cut? Because it wasn’t.” Blaine’s eyelids were heavy, as he bit his lower lip and looked down to where Kurt was undoing his other shoe.

“I figured it out, silly,” Kurt smiled, looking up at Blaine and pushing him gently so that he fell onto his back.

“You were just so stunning and perfect,” Blaine continued; content to talk to the ceiling as Kurt undid his belt. “But then I found out you were broken and I just wanted to fix you, and I tried, but it was never you that needed fixing, it was them. You helped me see that Kurt. You help me see a lot of things.”

Blaine was rambling and spilling his emotions. Kurt felt a twinge of guilt at taking advantage of Blaine’s altered emotional state, but he couldn’t resist. “Oh yeah? Like what?” Kurt played along, gently pulling Blaine’s pants from his body, folding them, and placing them in the chair in the corner.

“You help me see me,” Blaine confessed, his eyes wide and honest as he allowed Kurt to lift him slightly from the bed and remove his vest and shirt. Kurt was not talking anymore, but Blaine didn’t let that stop him. “I didn’t know how to be me until I met the me I am when I’m with you.” Suddenly, Blaine was underneath the covers and he rolled over onto his side, looking for Kurt. “Does that make sense, Kurt? Everyone was always telling me who I need to be, that I needed to be different, but you love me,” Blaine said, finally finding Kurt under the covers as well, but for some reason Blaine didn’t want to exert the mental effort to figure out, Kurt was still sitting up, his back against the headboard. Undeterred, Blaine rested his head in Kurt’s lap, wrapped his arms around Kurt’s waist, and continued. “And I love me when I’m with you.”

Kurt tenderly stroked Blaine’s sweat-curled hair and whispered, “I love us, Blaine.”

“Us is my favorite thing,” the words slipped from Blaine’s mouth as his eyes fluttered closed. After a moment he asked, “Can we keep it forever?”

“Keep what, honey?” Kurt asked gently.

“Us,” Blaine sighed.

“Isn’t that just what we agreed to?” Kurt chuckled lightly, not wanting to jostle Blaine. “I think there were flowers and witnesses and everything.”

“Oh yeah!” Blaine said, a burst of energy enough to boost his voice but not open his eyes. “We’re husbands. Husbands! Isn’t that cool, Kurt. I think it’s cool…” Blaine’s last words were barely audible as his arms became limp and his upper body rested heavily on Kurt’s lap.

“Yeah,” Kurt whispered at his sleeping husband, “it’s pretty cool.” And Kurt sat there for nearly an hour, smiling down at his sleeping husband and running his fingers through his dark hair. The moment was so perfect, so fragile, that Kurt was afraid to fall asleep for fear that the dream would end. But every slow rise and fall of his husband’s chest assured him that the dream would never end. So, Kurt closed his eyes and slipped beneath the covers, into the arms of his husband, and deeper into the dream, secure in the truth that the next morning, and every one after that, he would awake to Blaine – his dream.


	9. Papers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins about two weeks after the end of chapter seven.

** Saturday, June 7, 2031 (Present: Two weeks later) **

“He’s been with other men!”  Kurt was yelling now. The frustration, fear, and panic that had been building since the wee hours of the past Sunday morning were finally frothing over. Kurt had been desperate to talk to someone—anyone—about this. Blaine, the person he  _needed_  to talk to, was refusing to answer his phone and, when he did, rebuffed all attempts at conversation.  Kurt had to find someone who would listen, who would understand -- someone who would help him find his way out of this mess and back into Blaine’s heart. So, for the past hour, he had been pacing around the kitchen, with Mercedes and Rachel perched on their stools, shooting questions and judgment, which he admittedly deserved, yet still they were willfully refusing to understand.

“How can you be sure?” Mercedes asked.

“I have my sources!” Kurt declared, throwing his hands into the air.

“Kurt, please tell me you’re not having Blaine followed,” Rachel blurted her disapproval.

“God, no, Rachel! Blaine and Mike are gallivanting around town where anyone can see. I can’t help that it happened to get back to me,” Kurt said, slightly averting his eyes.

“So, Mike  _was_  out with Blaine? I didn’t believe Tina when she told me,” Mercedes confessed.

“I wouldn’t have believed that of Mike either,” Rachel added solemnly. “He was always so in love with Tina.”

“Mike and Tina? Really? Blaine, was out!” Kurt huffed. “Out! At 2am, and apparently having a wonderful time from the sound of it. I just…I can’t –“

“Can you really blame him?” Rachel asked sheepishly.

“Excuse me?” Kurt hissed, turning on Rachel, his eyes narrow.

“I mean, after Brimley…” Mercedes began.

“Damnit, Mercedes, how many times do I have to tell you--?”

“Papa?” A small voice drifted in from the dining room.

Kurt turned abruptly toward where Tori had suddenly appeared under the archway dividing kitchen and dining room. Her face wore worry. “Yes, sweetie?” Kurt asked, trying to mask the exasperation in his voice. He did not want her to believe she had put it there.

“Why are you yelling at Auntie Cedes and Auntie Rachel?”

“Oh, he wasn’t yelling at us, hon,” Mercedes tried to explain, filling the void left by Kurt’s guiltily, gaping mouth.

“Yeah, Tor, we’re just talking and your Papa is a bit upset,” Rachel offered. Tori’s eyes widened. The look Kurt shot Rachel indicated Rachel had once again said the wrong thing.

“Are you upset about Daddy again?” Tori asked timidly, her brown eyes beginning to glisten with tears.

“No, baby, no.  Come here,” Kurt soothed, opening his arms, beckoning his daughter into an embrace. “Your Aunties are just saying silly things and Papa overreacted,” he cooed through her curls into her ear.

“So, it’s not about Daddy?” Tori whispered.

“No, sweetie, it’s not,” he lied again.

Tori pulled back a little to look right into her Papa’s eyes before asking, “You promise?”

Kurt could not, so he thumbed the lone tear from her he cheek and said instead, “Please, sweetie, don’t worry. Everything is okay. Okay?” Kurt forced what he hoped seemed like a genuine smile.

“Okay, Papa.” Tori’s tears were gone, but the doubt remained.

Kurt straightened, gave her fluffy tendrils a gentle pat, and tilted his head slightly up, blinking furiously in an attempt to keep his own tears at bay.

“Why are you down here anyway, precious?” Mercedes asked, trying to break the tension with a change of subject. “I thought you were upstairs playing with Bertie?”

“I was, but Bertie wants to play in the tree house,” Tori said, some of the childish cheer returning to her voice.

“Does he now? And how do you know that?” Kurt asked teasingly, placing his hands dramatically on his hips.

“Well, we were talking about…about stuff…and he pointed out his window to the tree house and smiled.”

“Sounds pretty conclusive to me,” Rachel chimed, rising from her stool.

“Me too,” Mercedes joined in.

“Alright then sweetie, go get Bertie and we’ll play in the tree house,” Kurt instructed, giving Tori a little pat on the back.

Tori scurried happily back through the dining room, into the foyer, and up the stairs to retrieve her baby brother. Once she was out of earshot, Kurt turned dramatically to Rachel and Mercedes and declared, “No more talk about this.”

“Oh, we’re gonna talk about it,” Mercedes said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Kurt, you’re not gonna get off that easy.”

“Mmm hmm,” Mercedes went on, “I’ve had enough of this ‘I’ve told you’ crap, when you’ve told us nothing.”

“I’m not going to talk about this around the kids. It upsets them.”

“It’ll be fine. Trust me,” Rachel said; a plan alive in her eyes.

Five minutes later, they were all drenched in the warmth of the June sun, Rachel, Mercedes, and Kurt sitting in Kurt’s prized lawn chairs several feet from the tree house where Tori and Bertie regaled themselves in their favorite past time: the potato dance. 

“So, Kurt, how  _do_  you know that Dalton Hospital went home with some guy?” Rachel asked.

“I fail to see why  _how_  I know is more important than  _what_  I know,” Kurt said, crossing his arms.

This whole speaking in code business had been Rachel’s bright idea and Kurt was regretting going along with it. However, he  _had_  invited them over because he needed to talk, and at least this way the kids would not know what they were discussing. As long as Kurt could help it, his children would never hear him speak a negative word about their daddy.

“Fine, Kurt,” Rachel was saying, “we don’t have to get into  _how_  you know Dalton Hospital left a bar with some guy. What we need to decide is what you’re going to  _do_  about.”

“No, Rachel,” Mercedes countered.  “We won’t know what, if anything, he can do about that, until he explains why Liberty Medical was in the house,” Mercedes finished, looking to Kurt expectantly.

“Mercedes, I told you what happened and it wasn’t like that. Blai—“

“Uh, uh, uh!” Rachel admonished. “Stick to the code.”

“Fine, Rachel.”

“Kurt, all you told us was that Liberty Medical was in the house when Dalton Hospital showed up and then Dalton promptly stormed out – which I don’t understand because I would have strangled your ass first. Frankly, I still want to, but I’m trying to understand, because I love you and Jesus would want me to hear you out.”

“I agree, Kurt. The only thing we know is that Dalton Hospital has mastered the art of a well-timed storm out, of which I am quite proud, might I add. But, you know you’re my best friend, and I want to be on your side, but I just don’t understand how you could have let Liberty Medical ruin you and Dalton Hospital. Please, Kurt, what  _did_  happen?”

Kurt covered his eyes with a shaking hand. If he had to say this, he did not want to have to see their faces as well. Kurt took a steadying breath, and began.

***

** Saturday, March 29, 2031 (Past: Over two months ago)  **

Kurt lay on Blaine’s side of the bed, the pillow damp with his tears, Kurt’s silent phone inches from his trembling fingertips. The coffee meeting with Blaine earlier that day had been disastrous. Kurt had been trying to explain, but Blaine’s hurt, as always, had spoken a painful truth and stung Kurt into defense, and Kurt, as was his way, had become more focused on scoring points as opposed to ending the competition and returning them to the same team, where they belonged.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by something other than Kurt’s grieving breaths: his phone was ringing. It had to be Blaine, he was finally calling. Kurt frantically grabbed the phone, and in his tear-filled and hasty hope, only registered the first letter of the caller’s name before jamming the phone to his ear and choking out, “Blaine? Oh God, I’m so glad you ca—“

“Kurt?” It was Brimley.

Kurt’s heart fell and shame and bile began to rise in his throat. He tried in vain to compose himself, “Bri-Brimley?”

“Hello, Mr. Anderson-Hummel.” The words, on Brimley’s lips stung. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt spat through his sniffles, trying for an air of superiority. “Please, just get to the point, Brimley. I’m in the middle of something.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Brimley remarked. “Anyway, in order to bring a close to our professional relationship, I need to compile and submit the final numbers to the manufacturer so the Legend Line can be produced to full capacity.”

“Okay?” Kurt said, confused. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you had the papers last, if I’m not mistaken. You took them home to look over them.”

Kurt again cursed his tendency toward micromanagement. “Sorry, you’re right,” Kurt said, remembering. “I do have them. I’ll bring them into the office on Monday. Goodb—“

“Actually, Kurt,” Brimley interrupted. “I was hoping to get them this weekend. It’s fairly time sensitive, as you know.”

“Fine,” Kurt gave in. He would not let anything, especially Brimley, sabotage his seminal line. “I’ll drop them off at the office and you can pick them up.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I can just come get them from you, maybe tomorrow?”

Kurt inhaled and exhaled, trying to manage his frustration. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Kurt rushed. “Plus, tomorrow is bad. Blaine’s coming by to get the kids in the morning and I’ll be busy all day. It’s already a stretch for me to get the papers to the office.”

“It would only take a second,” Brimley pressed.

“No, Brimley,” Kurt said, emphasizing every syllable. Kurt rolled onto his back and covered his wet eyes in exasperation. When he spoke next, he spoke very slowly, as if explaining something to someone who was not very bright. “Either I can bring them into the office tomorrow, or you can wait until Monday.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Fine. I should be able to make it into the City around noon. I’ll drop them off then. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Brimley.”

“Goodbye.”

~

** Sunday, March 30, 2031 (Past: the next day) **

Kurt was nervous, but determined. The day before, he had let his anger get in the way of telling Blaine the whole truth, the truth he was sure would bring Blaine back to him. Kurt just needed time to explain--everything.  Now was the time. He just hoped Blaine had calmed down enough to listen.

As always, Kurt had meticulously prepared. Bertie was already in his carrier, sleeping peacefully at Kurt’s feet. Tori was on the carpet absently rocking Bertie’s carrier, sitting happily between Kurt’s bouncing knees, as Kurt sat on the couch brushing her curls. Kurt thought it was best that the kids be in the room. There was no way Blaine would lose his temper in front of them. Blaine would have to listen…Kurt just hoped he had the courage to venture beyond the safety of small talk and into the bright light of truth. It was for this reason that he had not yet sent Tori to get her coat. Kurt was saving that move in case he had to talk Blaine down. Although, Kurt was confident it would not come to that. Once Blaine knew everything, he would come back. They might even spend a lazy Saturday together as a family, snuggled on the couch, watching whatever ABC Family marathon was on. Kurt had errands to run, but it was nothing that could not be put aside in favor of time with Blaine, his husband.

The doorbell.

_He is too polite,_ Kurt thought adoringly, tickling Tori’s back as a cue for her to scoot over so he could go to the door – the first step to reuniting their family.

“Is Daddy here?” Tori piped. Her excitement was palpable.

“Yes, sweetie!” Kurt smiled, clapping his hands to match her enthusiasm. He needed Blaine back. He hated the feel of the house when Blaine wasn’t in it – cold, quiet, lonely. He could not wait to open their home to Blaine and let him breathe life back into Kurt’s dreary existence. Kurt and Tori hurried to the door, Tori practically skipping.

Tori got to the door first and, using all the strength in her little adrenaline filled muscles, swung it open.

“Hi there, little one.”

“You’re not Daddy.” Tori stood stock still in the doorway, elation draining from her small frame, confusion and hurt morphing her usually soft, round features into harsh edges as she looked up at the unwelcomed stranger she had been sure would be her daddy returning to her.

“No, honey, he’s not,” Kurt hissed, grabbing Tori’s hand and pulling her back from the door. “Go check on Bertie, sweetie.”

“But where’s Daddy?” Tori said; her upturned face searching Kurt’s for an answer.

“He’ll be here soon. I promise,” Kurt assured, squeezing her hand. “Now please go check on your brother.”

Tori reluctantly turned to leave. Kurt followed her with his eyes and when he could no longer see her he fixed his burning gaze on Brimley. “What the hell are you doing here?” Kurt demanded.

“I came to get the papers, Kurt,” Brimley said, calmly stepping, uninvited, over the threshold. “I had to leave the City anyway to see a friend, so I figured I’d stop by and save you the trip.” Brimley was actually grinning.

“You’re a liar. I know exactly why you’re here,” Kurt spat. “How could I have been so stupid?” Kurt thought aloud to himself. “You know Blaine is coming and you decided you’d just drop in, didn’t you?” It was all finally clicking into place in Kurt’s mind and Kurt wanted Brimley to admit it – to confess to his lies.

“Oh, is he coming?” Brimley feigned ignorance. “I take it he’s not here yet. Pity…”

“Good God, Brimley. I’d heard things and I had suspicions, but this is too much. I’m onto you.”

“Onto me?” Brimley chuckled, “Really, Kurt?” Brimley sauntered into Kurt’s physical space.

“Back up, Brimley,” Kurt commanded, putting his hands up and darting his eyes toward the living room where his children were waiting, expecting their daddy. He could not make a scene. Tori could not see this. “Don’t you dare move,” Kurt ordered, his extended index finger inches from Brimley’s chest. “You’re going to stand right here while I go get the papers. Then, you’re going to get the hell out of my house and my life. Do you understand?”

“Anything you say, Kurt,” Brimley said, casually slipping his hands into his pockets and looking around as if he was simply admiring the décor. Kurt gave Brimley one last warning look and dashed toward the stairs. On his way past the living room, he caught Tori’s eyes, mouthed, “I’ll be right back,” and took the steps two at a time, hoping he could find the papers and get Brimley out in time.

***

** Saturday, June 7, 2031 (Present) **

“You left that bastard downstairs with the kids?” Mercedes interjected, the code forgotten.

“I know,” Kurt said, still hiding his face in his hands.

“Why didn’t you just kick him out? Call the police?” Even if Kurt had not recognized Rachel’s voice, he would have recognized her logic anywhere. “The papers could have waited, Kurt.” Rachel’s superior tone always stung even more when she was right.

“I know, I know, I wasn’t thinking,” Kurt admitted, shame shaking his head. “I was just so frazzled, and I had planned everything, and it was perfect, and then  _he_  shows up,” Kurt’s hands were shaking and his gestures were becoming more erratic as the terror of that moment returned full force, “and it couldn’t’ve taken me more than  _four minutes_  to find those damn papers, but when I got downstairs Blaine was there and Brimley was holding Tori and—“ the words and tears were now spilling from Kurt’s heaving frame with increasing speed, “and I tried to explain, but he was looking at me, and the  _hurt_ , God, he hasn’t looked at me like that since…since…and just, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t even  _move_  until Blaine was nearly at Brimley’s throat, and then Tori, oh God, she called him ‘uncle,’ that  _son of a bitch!”_ Kurt was lost in it now. This is what he had been trying so hard to avoid—fully succumbing to the agony of the reality he had created.  _“_ I should have known! And I tried to tell Blaine I didn’t know what was happening, why she would say that, and it must have been him, that  _bastard_ , but Blaine wouldn’t listen, just, if you had seen the look in his eyes, and he, he, he took the kids and oh God,” Kurt was sobbing, the words pushing their way out between trembling breaths. “He thinks I don’t love him! He thinks I don’t love him!” That was all Kurt could say as he finally slouched, shaking and breathless, into Mercedes’ waiting arms.

“Shh, shh, baby. Let’s get you inside,” Mercedes soothed, rubbing gentle circles on Kurt’s quivering back. She turned to Rachel. “Rachel, get the kids, I’m gonna take Kurt inside.” Rachel nodded.

Rachel took the exhausted and thankfully oblivious little ones upstairs and put them both down for naps while Mercedes made some tea. Kurt was resting on the couch under strict directive from Mercedes not to move.

Soon, they were all upstairs in what used to be Kurt and Blaine’s bed, the pillows thrown and forgotten on the floor and replaced with the huddled bodies of Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes, each slowly nursing a warm mug of tea. 

“Honey, why didn’t you tell us?” Mercedes asked gently, breaking the comforting silence now that Kurt seemed to have calmed significantly.

“I’m just…so ashamed,” Kurt admitted. “I was so stupid, so careless…”

“That’s not a sin, Kurt,” Rachel comforted, having suffered the perils of the blind stupidity and carelessness that often plagued the pursuit of dreams. “But you have to tell him.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder,” Mercedes pushed.

“I called every day for nearly a month and he wouldn’t answer.”

“That’s no excuse, Kurt.” Mercedes would not budge.

“I know…that’s why I kept calling, but when he finally answered, he sounded so angry, so hurt, and I…”

“Of course he’s upset, Kurt. It was enough that you were with Brimley –“

“I was  _never_   _with_  Brimley, Mercedes,” Kurt corrected, his tone harsh.

“Kurt, you know what I mean,” Mercedes tenderly admonished.  “Once again, your need to jump to the defensive is stopping you from getting to the truth.” Mercedes’ voice was soft but her hand on Kurt’s knee was firm.  

“I know…I’m sorry…and I’ve been trying to talk to him. But, when he comes to get the kids or when I drop them off he just honks the horn or has me send them up to the apartment…He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Then stop trying to talk,” Rachel offered.

“What?” Mercedes interjected.

“He should send an email, or a letter or something,” Rachel, letter campaign extraordinaire, quickly explained.

“I sent emails. He didn’t respond.”

“Of course not. Some things can’t be said in emails,” Mercedes offered wisely.

“Then, next time he comes to get the kids, just go out to the car and make him talk to you,” Rachel said, straightening her posture, flaring her elbows out in a dramatic show of properly holding her mug of tea.

“No,” Kurt’s voice almost broke as he shook his bowed head. “I can’t. I can’t bear to see him look at me like that…like…like he doesn’t love me anymore.” Kurt’s last words came out so light, so soft that he would have been convinced they were only uttered, once more, in his mind, if the agonizing ache of hearing his worst fear in his own voice had not been clinching his breaking heart.

“Kurt, no,” Rachel said, outraged. “Blaine loves you. He just needs to know that  _you_  still love  _him_ ,” she encouraged, rising to her knees and clutching his shoulder. “He’s just hurting and angry, which is understandable, but he loves you.”

“No,” the word was stronger this time, long and low, but still broken. “He doesn’t love me,” Kurt took a shuddering breath, “not anymore. He loves the kids,” Kurt nodded, a painful, empty smile on his lips. “He’ll only talk to me about them…and…and,” the tears came again, but more gently, as though they had resigned themselves to the fall, “if that’s the only way I get to hear his voice…then…at least I have that.”

“Kurt, you cannot give up. I won’t let you. What you’re saying just isn’t true. If there’s only one thing I know about Blaine, it’s that he loves you.”

“Then you know nothing about him!” Kurt thundered, anger flaring and distorting the lines of his once solemnly placid face. Kurt rose from the bed in such a frenzy it was a miracle his tea did not stain the sheets. Mercedes and Rachel sat frozen, open-mouthed, as Kurt stormed into the adjoining office that had served as Bertie’s nursery until Kurt had no longer been afraid to let the tiny infant out of his sight. 

“Kurt?” Mercedes tried. “Come back, please. What are you doing?”

“Blaine loves me, huh?” Kurt seemed to be talking to himself, his tone hushed and frenetic. “You just wait.” Drawers flew open and papers scattered as Kurt moved erratically around the office. Kurt was searching, they needed to see, understand. He finally found the manila envelope in the corner, an apparent victim of his rampage. Clutching it, he strode back into the bedroom. “Blaine loves me?” He was yelling again, all thoughts of his sleeping children long forgotten. “I just need to get him to listen? Then explain this!” Kurt screamed, slamming the thick packet onto the bed in front of them, and collapsing under the weight of the pain.

“Kurt, what is this?” Rachel whispered, rising slowly to her knees and reaching tentatively for the package.

“Blaine sent the papers,” Kurt breathed, swaying slightly where he sat on the ground, all strength spent. “He wants a divorce.”

  



	10. Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins at the end of chapter six.

** _Tuesday, October 23, 2012 (Past: Nineteen years ago)_ **

  
Kurt must have walked the equivalent of half a mile in his room by now. He was pacing. It had been particularly difficult getting through his classes that morning.  He was definitely hung over, still wounded from the unjust grade Professor Caldwell had assigned him, and if that were not enough, now guilt had been added to the weight of his anxiety. Kurt could not get Timmy out of his mind: the regret in his eyes, his downturned head as he retreated to a corner, embarrassed and ashamed.    
  
Had Kurt been too cruel, too harsh? Timmy had been kind to him, offered him advice early on, made attempts to introduce him to people, and when Kurt had been upset, Timmy had tried to console him. After all, Timmy  _had_  been right; Blaine had told Kurt that Timmy had a thing for him, which, if Kurt thought about it, had been pretty obvious, especially last night with all of Timmy’s blatant flirting. While Kurt had not tried to lead Timmy on nor purposely sought out Timmy’s bed, Kurt had ended up there nonetheless. Could he really expect Timmy to have behaved differently considering he – Kurt – had ended up innocently snuggled against a sleeping Blaine after Rachel’s first and only house party his junior year? If Blaine had awakened and reacted the way Kurt had that morning, Kurt was sure his fragile heart would not have withstood it. Rejection that mortifying was too much to inflict upon anyone, and Timmy had been a friend – his only friend, seeing as Rachel was too busy to spend time with him because she was always “getting into character” for another fruitless audition. Kurt barely got to see Rachel on the weekends and when he did it was almost unbearable, what with her speaking in some strange dialect, apparently necessitated by her character, or once even refusing to speak at all because according to the napkin she had written on, she needed to “understand the impact of silence” in order to fully embody her character#.  With friends like that, Kurt did not need any more enemies.   
  
With that in mind, Kurt thumbed out a text.    
  
** Kurt              4:27pm **   
_Hey…can we talk?_   
  
** Timmy          4:31pm **   
_Sure_   
  
** Kurt                 4:33pm **   
_Coffee?_   
  
** Timmy             4:37pm     **   
_Okay_   
  
~   
  
Kurt had learned quickly that living in New York meant he would never be more than a block from a coffee shop.  Bundled in a fashionable purple scarf and a light jacket of his own creation, Kurt ventured out into the fall breeze and into the corner Starbucks. Kurt was seated, nursing his usual non-fat mocha, contemplating how to respond to Blaine’s text inquiry about their missed Skype date when Timmy walked in. Kurt tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket: Blaine’s answer would have to wait because, frankly, Kurt did not yet have one. In fact, he was hoping this meeting would provide it.    
  
Timmy finally spotted Kurt and shuffled hesitantly toward Kurt’s table in the corner and took the empty seat across from him.    
  
They endured a few moments of uncomfortable silence before Kurt asked, “Are you going to get a coffee?”    
  
“No. I’m not really in the mood,” Timmy replied softly, staring down at the table.    
  
Okay. Timmy clearly wasn’t going to make this easy. Perhaps it was best to just rip off the band-aid, colloquially speaking.   
  
“Look, Timmy,” Kurt began. “I’m sorry about this morning.”   
  
“Oh God, me too!” Timmy blurted, finally looking up and fixing his deep brown eyes on Kurt. “I was really glad you still wanted to talk to me. I was so worried. I meant what I said, Kurt. I really am sorry. So, so sorry,” Timmy rushed, shaking his head. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”   
  
“Slow down, slow down,” Kurt giggled, his own anxiety beginning to untwine. “I know. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were a predator,” Kurt soothed; reaching out to briefly pat Timmy’s fidgeting hands.  “I think we just had a misunderstanding and I wanted to talk about it before things got weird.”   
  
So, Timmy finally got himself a latte and they talked. It was actually pretty easy. Timmy was very sweet and truly funny. Kurt found himself genuinely laughing at Timmy’s jokes, which was a rarity. They even had a lot in common seeing as Timmy was a southern boy who had also been pulled from the dark and dreary depths of his small town life by the bright lights of the Big Apple.  Moreover, there was something easy and familiar about Timmy’s quiet charm and warm smile that never failed to reach his tender eyes. However, what reminded Kurt most of home was Timmy’s honest and complimentary nature.   
  
“You’re really great, Kurt. Blaine is really lucky.”   
  
“Aww, thank you. You’re pretty great yourself. I’m sure you’ll find someone soon. Sooner if you’d start using some product in that hair,” Kurt teased.    
  
“I did have someone,” Timmy confessed, his smile slightly fading.    
  
“Oh?” Kurt said, tilting his head to the side.   
  
“Yeah, we met last summer at Admitted Students Weekend and were together all during our first year…then he broke up with me.”    
  
“I’m so sorry,” Kurt breathed.   
  
“…Said he wanted to experience all the city had to offer,” Timmy scoffed. “Guess he had already checked me off the list.”   
  
“Well, it’s his loss,” Kurt said adamantly, jutting his chin out officially as though his decree was now law. “You’re wonderful and it’s time you started making some lists of your own.” Kurt pushed away from the table dramatically and stood up.   
  
“Where are you going?” Timmy asked, surprised.    
  
“You’re coming with me. We’re going to get you some product for that hair.” Timmy just shook his head and laughed, but he rose to follow Kurt.    
  
~   
  
“Jermane?” Kurt called into his dorm room as he cracked open the door. “Jermane, are you here?” There was no response. “Okay!” Kurt said with a hop and a clap, pushing the door open dramatically and dropping the bags of product from his and Timmy’s shopping excursion onto the floor. “Let’s get you a boyfriend!”   
  
“Kurt,” Timmy lightly protested, “I don’t really want –“   
  
“This is not about what you want, Timmy. This is about what you  _need_. And if we’re going to be friends you  _need_  a makeover as much as I need to give one. Besides, makeovers are my favorite thing.  _Indulge_  me.” Kurt joked and pushed Timmy playfully onto the edge of his bed with his fingertips. “Now sit.”     
  
Timmy was a great student. He picked up Kurt’s moisturizing routine with ease. “Can’t you just feel your pores shrinking?” Kurt asked, looking over Timmy’s shoulder, monitoring the circular motion of Timmy’s hands, as they both stood in front of the dull, dingy, barely reflective square Residential Life was trying to pass off as a mirror.    
  
“Mmm hmm,” Timmy hummed, rubbing the designer facial scrub over his cheeks and directing a goofy smile at Kurt through the mirror.    
  
“Now, come on over here to the sink,” Kurt directed, leading Timmy by his shoulders. “Wait until the water is lukewarm, wash off the facial scrub, pat – don’t rub – dry and I’ll grab the toner.” Timmy dutifully followed directions and Kurt trotted off to retrieve the next product Timmy would have to obediently apply to his face. Timmy was patting – not rubbing – his face dry when it occurred to him that it had been far too long since Kurt had given him a direction.  Face finally dry, Timmy turned from the sink, Kurt’s monogrammed hand towel still clutched in his hands, and opened his eyes to find Kurt sitting on the edge of his bed, the toner forgotten at his side.  As Timmy approached, he noticed Kurt was clutching a dimming cell phone.  Timmy took a seat on the bed beside Kurt and placed a hand on Kurt’s back, “Hey, you okay? What’s the next step?”   
  
“Oh,” Kurt blinked, exiting distraction and reentering the present long enough to say, “Umm, the toner,” and gesture toward the bottle with a slight movement of his downturned head without breaking his gaze at the phone in his lap.    
  
“Kurt?” Timmy said a little more firmly, now gently scratching Kurt’s back in an attempt to wake Kurt from his reverie. “The phone. Who is it? What’s wrong?”   
  
“It’s Blaine.” The words slipped from Kurt’s pursed lips.    
  
“Oh,” Timmy perked. “Call him. Don’t worry about me. I’ll amuse myself,” Timmy finished, clapping Kurt on the back.   
  
“I…I’m not sure I’m ready.”   
  
“What do you mean?” Timmy asked, confusion furrowing his brow.   
  
“I’m going to have to…to tell him…about you,” Kurt finished shakily.    
  
Timmy shook his head as if to clear it. When he spoke, it was very slowly, “Kurt…uhh…I’m not following…I don’t get why you can’t—“   
  
“ _Last night_ ,” Kurt enunciated each word as though he was insulted that he had to say them at all.   
  
“Oh.  _That_. Well, just tell him the truth. It was my fault,” Timmy offered casually.    
  
“Of course, I’m going to tell him the truth, Timmy,” Kurt said, clearly offended at the seeming insinuation that he would do otherwise. “I just don’t want to worry him.”    
  
“But why would he be worried?”   
  
“He knows.”   
  
“Knows what?”   
  
“That you like me,” Kurt said, chancing a glance at Timmy.   
  
“Oh.” Timmy looked away briefly, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.  Unfettered, Kurt continued.

“And I’ll also have to tell him about today…and I don’t think it’ll be a problem between you and me, but he might not understand and I just…I need a friend, and I want him to be comfortable…” Kurt dropped his head into his hands. “It’s just so hard, and I…I don’t want to lose him, but I want us to be friends, because I really like you, and if it weren’t for that bastard Sebast—“    
  
“Hey, hey, none of that now,” Timmy soothed, inching closer and rubbing circles into Kurt’s back. Timmy could not see Kurt’s face, but he could feel and hear his tears. “I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.”   
  
Kurt did not remove his face from his hands. He only shook his head. Timmy reached out, wrapped his fingers around Kurt’s wrists and pulled them gently from his damp face. “Seriously, everything will be fine,” Timmy said, lifting Kurt’s chin with the side of his crooked index finger. “If he sees what I see, then he knows how amazing you are and he’ll understand.”   
  
Kurt dragged his eyes to where Timmy’s were gazing into his, mere inches from his face. “You  _are_ amazing, Kurt,” Timmy breathed.   
  
“Tha-thank you,” Kurt stuttered, taken aback by Timmy’s intense sincerity. Almost as if in slow motion, Timmy’s thumb intercepted a cascading tear, then ran its way along Kurt’s jaw, where Timmy’s hand shifted to hold Kurt’s chin. Then, as if through molasses, Timmy was inching forward toward Kurt’s slightly parted lips. With eyes wide, tension glued Kurt to the spot. The increasing proximity blurred Timmy’s features but the pressure of his lips was clear. Timmy was kissing Kurt.    
  
It was strangely familiar – the fingers snaking into his hair, the special attention being paid to his bottom lip. Kurt’s tear heavy lashes fluttered shut at the memory and he was kissing back, dragging his tongue over Blaine’s lips, draping his arms over Blaine’s shoulders. It was like he had never left Blaine’s arms that day at the airport. But then Blaine’s hand was on his chest pushing him backward onto the bed. This wasn’t like Blaine. Blaine usually leaned back, allowing Kurt to follow. Kurt’s back hit the bed and his eyes opened, confirming what his mind and heart already knew but his body had wanted to deny – the boy on top of him was not Blaine.   
  
Kurt jerked his head to the side, breaking the kiss, and pushed his palms against Timmy’s chest managing to lift Timmy’s breathless frame just enough for Kurt to roll out from under him. Kurt buried his face in his pillow and did not even try to mask his sobs.    
  
“Kurt?” Timmy was on his knees, panting, leaning over a trembling Kurt.    
  
“Go.”   
  
“Shit, Kurt. Please, I’m sorry,” Timmy pleaded.    
  
“I said go!” Kurt’s pillow muffled his yell but the message came through clear.    


Timmy climbed slowly from the bed and with one final glance at Kurt, left.

  


***

 

** _Friday, October 26, 2012 (Past: three days later)_ **

  
Blaine’s jaw trembled with the effort of holding back the sob that had been building since the first nod of Kurt’s head confirmed there was more. Now, cracks were rippling through the dam as tears that had collected in his eyes began to fall, blurring Kurt’s image on his computer screen.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Kurt’s voice shook. “I’m so, so, sorry.”   
  
“You called him…you took him to  _coffee,”_ Blaine muttered mindlessly, his fragile whisper barely audible beneath Kurt’s laments. “You went shopping…you taught him our routine…” Blaine’s eyes were glazed as he swayed slightly in his seat, dizzy from the effort of clinging to his spinning and swiftly shattering world.    
  
“I know. Oh god, I’m so sorry, Blaine.”   
  
“You kissed him…” Blaine’s jaw was slack, his head shaking unsteadily, his eyes hurt and questioning. “Why?”   
  
“I-I don’t know,” was all Kurt could manage.   
  
“Why?” Blaine pressed, his voice growing stronger as his anger began to rise, suppressing his rising sobs. “Why him? Why now?”   
  
“Honey, I don’t know,” Kurt pleaded, “I-I just needed someone and no-no one else showed any interest in be-“   
  
“I showed interest!” Blaine belted.    
  
“I know, sweetie, please!”   
  
“How could you do this, Kurt? Do you…do you even want to be with me anymore?”   
  
“I’m sorry…I don’t know…I think so…” the words tumbled clumsily from Kurt’s mouth. “I just didn’t think being away from you would be like this.”   
  
“Yeah? Well I didn’t think being away from you would mean you’d be with someone else!” Blaine countered, completely unsympathetic.   
  
Kurt was nearly incoherent through his tears. “Baby, please don’t say those things. I’m trying! I just don’t know what I’m doing.”   
  
“Neither do I, but I thought we knew what we wanted…” The hurt of betrayal was beginning to peak through Blaine’s cover of anger.  “Do you…do you even want this anymore?”   
  
“Of course I do! I love you. It’s just…it’s difficult.”   
  
“Oh? It’s difficult?” Blaine’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “That’s funny because I seem to be the one in Ohio at a school I hate because I transferred away from my friends to be with my senior boyfriend who left me alone and went to New York to pursue his dreams, which I supported _because I love you!_ ” The last words escaped him with a shout as he pounded his fist on his desk, driving the last crack into the dam and Blaine’s tears began to flow in earnest. “But now you’re running around town with Timmy The Facebook Stalker while I’m here writing essays and filling out applications to join you because we promised to wait for each other but apparently you couldn’t make it a  _couple of months_  before crawling into bed someone else!  Yes, Kurt, I see now how this is difficult for  _you_!”   
  
“Honey, please,” Kurt begged. He just needed it to stop, needed Blaine to hear him out. “I didn’t mean it like that, and I didn’t crawl in—“   
  
“You know what, Kurt? It doesn’t matter what you meant, it matters what you  _did_. And I...I can’t. I’m done.”   
  
~   
  
“No, Blaine! No!” Kurt was screaming and clutching at his now black and empty screen, frantically pounding all possible key combinations, forcing himself to believe there was just something wrong with the connection. If he could fix it, Blaine would come back. But the sting in Kurt’s reddening fingertips and the weight of worry in his joints disabused him of that notion. For Kurt knew there was indeed something wrong with his and Blaine’s connection and it mattered not how many buttons Kurt pressed, Kurt had broken it and Blaine was not coming back.    
  
Kurt slammed his computer shut, lunged for his phone and did what he should have done days ago – he called Blaine. The phone did not even ring.   
  
“Hello, you’ve reached Blaine Anderson…”   
  
“No, Blaine,  _please_  pick up,” Kurt begged, ending the call and dialing again.    
  
“Hello, you’ve reached—“ Kurt hung up. Head hung, his shirt clutched into a fist at his heart, Kurt dialed again and again and again. By the sixth time, Kurt could no longer deny that this recording was the only way he would ever again hear the warm timber of Blaine’s chipper tone. Blaine was not going to answer.    
  
Reeling, Kurt collapsed on his bed, his arms wrapped around the gaping wound of loss in his gut. The pain radiated out from his epicenter, his entire body convulsing in the carnage. Doubled over at the waist, Kurt wailed and thrashed as though trying desperately to avoid being crushed by the falling debris of his life. His sobs fed on his heaving, guttural breaths, until suddenly he was choking on his grief. Kurt’s agony constricted his windpipe as his abdomen contracted violently in a vain attempt to dry heave the guilt, despair, anguish, and self-loathing that had settled sour and stinging in his stomach.  Oxygen starved, Kurt succumb, one last shudder rippling his frame as he lay, still, unmoving, among the rubble, numb to all but the hard, steady, drum of his broken heart.    
  
Rolling onto his side, Kurt reached out blindly, his fingers clawing fruitless at the sheets until they fell upon his phone. Barely able to see through the sore, swollen flesh of his red lids, Kurt squinted at the bright screen as his trembling finger found the name. He pressed his finger to Rachel Berry’s name, dragged the phone to his ear, and pled for her to answer. Six rings later, Kurt heard her voice.   
  
“Hello!” Rachel sang cheerfully.    
  
“Oh god, Rachel, Blaine,” Kurt rasped.    
  
“You have reached the young and talented Rachel Berry. If you are a casting director calling to offer me a role, please press one.”   
  
Kurt slammed the phone into the mattress as an aftershock pulsed through him, tears falling anew. He needed someone to listen to him, tell him it was going to be okay, help him figure this out. He needed his dad. Again, Kurt pressed the phone to his cheek and waited for comfort.    
  
“You’ve reached Congressman Hummel. If you’re lookin’ for Hummel Tire an—“ Kurt hung up.    
  
Was no one awake? Did no one care? Would no one listen? Kurt pulled his knees to his chest, clinched his eyes shut, and slipped into the blackness of his spinning world. His mind was a tangle of words, thoughts, and images that his tired psyche could not navigate. Kurt was only sure of one thing: this was his fault. He had ruined everything…everything they had, everything they had hoped to have. Now, Kurt had nothing. No friends. No family. No Blaine. There was no one to hold him. He would have to hold his own. But he was not ready, not able. In that moment, as he held himself, he felt how inadequate he was. He could not save himself from this. Kurt needed someone else to hold him, to pull him from the wreckage. He needed Blaine. But Blaine was gone, lost in ruins of Kurt’s own creation.  Blaine would never hold him again. No, there was only one person remotely interested in holding him now. That would have to be enough. Kurt would simply have to close his eyes and pretend. It was all he had left.   
  
~   
  
“Hello?” Timmy’s voice was tentative.   
  
“Timmy, can - can you come over? Please?” Kurt whispered into the phone, his voice weak with grief.   
  
“Kurt…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Timmy cautioned. “…Blaine” As much as Timmy liked Kurt, he did not want to be the cause of Kurt losing someone he loved, for that was a pain Timmy knew well.  So, Timmy was keeping his distance because he was learning he could not trust himself around Kurt.    
  
“I-I told him,” Kurt’s voice broke at the mention of Blaine. “He – he…it’s over.”   
  
“Shit, Kurt, I’m sorry,” Timmy breathed, shock and guilt in his voice.    
  
“I can’t…I can’t be alone right now. Please,” Kurt begged.    
  
Timmy could not refuse Kurt now, not now that he knew he was the cause of Kurt’s pain. The least he could do was try to help him mend. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”   
  
The door cracked open ten minutes later and Timmy slipped in on silent, wary feet to find Kurt in much the same state he had left him three days previous.  Timmy stood at the doorway, not wanting to do anything without Kurt’s permission. “Kurt?” he whispered.    
  
“Timmy?” Kurt did not turn to face him. Instead, he remained in the fetal position, facing the wall. “Th-thank you for coming.”   
  
“It’s not a problem.” Timmy stood awkwardly, at a loss for what to do or say. “Umm, Kurt, what do you need me to do?”   
  
“Hold me.”   
  
“What?” Timmy stiffened. “Kurt, I’m not sure—“   
  
“No, not like – like  _that_ , I just…,” Kurt shuddered in the discomfort of his vulnerability before glancing over his shoulder and meeting Timmy’s eyes. “I just…I need someone to hold me.”    
  
Understanding, Timmy nodded. He toed off his shoes and padded over to Kurt’s bed. “Are you sure?” Timmy asked again. At Kurt’s whispered assurance, Timmy climbed carefully into the bed and lay down behind Kurt’s suddenly small frame. Moments later, Kurt’s hand was reaching backward and blindly pulling Timmy’s arm around his waist.    
  
“Hold me,” Kurt begged. “Please.”   
  
Timmy tried to exhale all of his anxieties, then wrapped his arm around Kurt, tucked his fingers under Kurt’s side, and tried to hold Kurt the way he, Timmy, wished he had been held nearly three months ago when he too had suddenly found himself alone and wanting.    
  
~

** _Saturday, October 27, 2012 (Past: the next day)_ **

  
Morning came quickly. Kurt’s tender eyelids clung to each other, melded together in the night by misery’s moisture. He gently worked them open with the soft circular motion of his fingertips. Stretching, Kurt rolled over and into Timmy and the events of the previous night suddenly loomed large and unforgiving above the fog of dawning consciousness.    
  
At love’s command, Kurt had told Blaine the truth that had shattered their bond. Blaine had ended things and having nowhere else to turn, Kurt had sought out Timmy, a crude replacement of the arms for which Kurt longed.    
  
Whenever Kurt had fallen asleep in Blaine’s arms he had always awakened still secure in Blaine’s embrace and in their love.  This morning, however, Kurt awoke having escaped Timmy’s grasp in the night, his body fleeing to the edge of the bed, maximizing the distance between himself and the substitute even his unconscious self identified as an impostor.  Timmy too had turned away, his back to Kurt, rising and falling slowly in sleep.    
  
Kurt jerked back from the accidental contact and Timmy stirred slightly.   
  
“Timmy?” Kurt whispered at Timmy’s back. “Are – are you awake?”   
  
“Yeah,” Timmy murmured, looking over his shoulder to see Kurt. “Are you feeling better?”   
  
“A little,” Kurt nodded, leaning his back against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest. “Thank you for staying.” Awkward embarrassment prevented Kurt’s eyes from meeting Timmy’s.    
  
“No problem,” Timmy said, stretching. “I know how hard it is falling asleep alone the first night.”   
  
_ Alone. The first night.  _  Timmy had said it so casually, so simply, yet it hit Kurt with such force that had he not been seated and supported by a wall he would surely have fallen.    
  
“I-I need to get up,” Kurt said, scrambling from the bed. “I’m going to shower.” Kurt hurried to his dresser, grabbed a change of clothes, his robe, and a towel and headed toward the door of his small, adjoined bathroom.    
  
“Umm…okay,” Timmy said, sitting up. “Do you…want me to…to wait?”   
  
Kurt stopped and turned. “Yes. Please.” It was a request. As uncomfortable as Kurt was he was not ready to be alone. Timmy wasn’t Blaine, but he was someone, and that’s what Kurt needed right now. Timmy nodded and with a hesitant smile, Kurt turned and went into the bathroom.     
  
As the shower roared to life, Timmy stretched again and got awkwardly from Kurt’s bed. Truth be told, he had been uncomfortable all night. Somehow, for Timmy, cuddling the guy he liked while listening to him cry over the guy he loved was not an aphrodisiac.    
  
A distant buzzing drew Timmy’s attention and he trudged over to Kurt’s desk toward the sound. It was Kurt’s phone. It was ringing.    
  
“Kurt?” Timmy called toward the bathroom. “Kurt!”   
  
“Yeah?” Kurt called, his voice muffled through the wall.    
  
“Your phone is ringing.” The response was immediate. There was a loud thud that was certainly a body colliding with a wall, and seconds later the bathroom door cracked open dramatically and Kurt’s hopeful yet fearful face peaked out.    
  
“Who is it?” Kurt asked, frantic, his heartbeat shaking his voice.   
  
Timmy reached for the phone and read the name on the screen, “Artie Abrams?”   
  
Kurt visibly deflated. “Oh…”   
  
“Should I answer it?” Timmy gestured with the vibrating phone.   
  
“Yeah…sure,” Kurt muttered, as he retreated, defeated, back into the restroom. Timmy was sure he heard the familiar sound of Kurt’s tears, but he blocked it out with a sad sigh and answered the phone.    
  
~   
  
“Hello,” a foreign voice greeted.    
  
“Kurt?” Blaine breathed into the phone.    
  
“No, sorry, this is Timmy. Kurt’s in the shower. Can I take a message?”   
  
“N-no, thank you,” was all Blaine could manage before his muscles gave out and the phone slid from his hands into Artie’s waiting lap. Catching himself on Artie’s wheelchair, Blaine’s breath came hard and fast.   
  
“Blaine?” Artie questioned, grabbing Blaine’s forearm to steady him, and staring up into his anguished face searching for answers.    
  
Blaine’s eyes were clinched and his knuckles were white against the arm of Artie’s chair. “Thank you for coming over, Artie,” Blaine stated, his voice monotone, cold, and unconvincing, “I’m going to go up to my room, can you – can you show yourself out?”   
  
“What’d he say?” Artie asked, ignoring Blaine’s question and spinning a wheel to watch Blaine’s retreating back.   
  
“Nothing,” Blaine muttered, walking unsteadily toward the stairs. He stopped, grabbed the banister for support, and with his last ounce of strength uttered, “It’s over.”    
  
~   
  
“He didn’t leave a message,” Timmy bellowed toward the bathroom door, his voice drowned out by the steady stream of the shower.    
  
But Kurt did not make it back into the shower. Clutching his robe tight around his waist, Kurt slid down the slick bathroom wall onto the cold, unforgiving floor, as the wound in his gut tore open once more and fresh anguish spilled out, crashing over him in waves.   
  
As surely as the voice on the other end of his phone was not and would never again be Blaine, Timmy was right – this was the first day of Kurt’s life without Blaine.  Kurt had thought it the moment his computer screen went black, felt it when he was greeted with a cheap recording of Blaine’s voice, but he had not believed it until someone else had been the first to think of him and dial his number on a Saturday morning. In that moment, deep in Kurt’s core, something severed and Kurt knew instinctively that Blaine was gone.    
  
Blaine was done and so were they.

** *** **

** Friday, October 26, 2012 (Past: the previous night) **

 

Blaine was not done.  He could never be done, not with Kurt.  Kurt knew that, he had to know that. They could figure this out. They had to.

Blaine scrambled for his phone and dialed.

“Hello, you’ve reached the one and only, Kurt Hummel.”

“Come on, Kurt!” Blaine pleaded, hanging up and dialing again.  “I didn’t mean it. You have to know I didn’t mean it.”

“Hello, you’ve reached th—“

“No, no, no…” Blaine’s anxiety was morphing into anger. Anger at himself for losing control, anger at Kurt for causing this, anger at Timmy for taking advantage, anger at the injustice that caused him to be sitting here, miles from his love, just as it had separated him from Dale and consciousness that night so long ago.

When Blaine heard Kurt’s recorded voice a third time, his rage propelled his phone across the room and into the wall, where it ricocheted, flickered black, and crashed to the floor, shattered and silent.

“Damnit!” Blaine yelled, dropping to his knees beside the remains of his phone, trying in vain to mend it.

“Blaine? I heard a noi—“ his mother stopped mid-sentence, cracking open the door, her eyes settling on Blaine.

“Mom!” Blaine blurted in surprise, turning from her to wipe the tears of which her presence had made him suddenly aware.

“Blaine…what’s wrong?” Camille asked, her voice tentative, wary.  “Is it…is it Kurt?”

His name. Blaine nodded at the sound of it and the weight of acknowledgment, of loss, fell upon him, embarrassment and pride crumbling, giving way to grief and he let the tears fall.

Suddenly, his mother’s arms were wrapped around his hunched and quaking frame. It was a rare but welcome feeling, to be safe again in her arms, shielded at least in part from the realities, the pains of a life beyond her reach, on the outskirts of childhood, looking in on and longing for the carefree bliss and ignorance of those who had never endured love. There, on the floor, in his mother’s arms, cradled and crying, Blaine let it spill – their promises, Kurt’s indiscretions, Blaine’s fears.

Some time later, empty and quiet, Blaine lay on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest, head resting in his mother’s lap, her soft soothing hand brushing gently at his temple, as his heartbeat began to slow, falling in time with the steady rise and fall of her chest.

“Sweetheart,” her voice crept out, as if reluctant to interrupt Blaine’s mourning. “You should call him.”

“My phone…” Blaine’s voice was hollow and hoarse.

“I know. Let me get mine,” she whispered, adjusting as if to rise. Blaine’s arms instinctually tensed around her waist. He was not ready to let go, to be left alone.

“Blaine, please,” she implored, though she did not make to move again.

“No…he…he doesn’t want to talk me…” his words were labored, washed out in the initial flood, and he was trying now to lessen the force of the rising tide by allowing small drops of the truth to trickle out.

“You don’t know th—“

“I called, Mom,” Blaine interrupted. “He…he won’t answer.”

“I’m sure he’s just upset,” she comforted, affecting a light, optimistic tone.

“I told him I was…that I was done. He thinks…it’s over,” painful resignation was audible in Blaine’s broken voice.

“Give him some time,” his mother advised, stroking a stray curl coiled at his furrowed brow. “That’s what I do with your father…” They stiffened both at the mention of his father and the implicit comparison of the relationships – it was the first time his mother had referenced what he and Kurt had—used to have—as if it were normal, okay. “Call him in the morning.”

Blaine nodded into her lap, too weak to protest.  Satisfied, she adjusted slightly, leaned her back comfortably against the foot of his bed, and threaded her fingers into his hair. Secure in her presence, Blaine loosened his grip and lowered himself into sleep.

 

***

Blaine awoke to his mother’s voice, distant, her comforting touch gone, replaced by the warmth of his pillow and embrace of his sheets. Though his memory was crawling out of unconsciousness, he was certain he had not arrived there by his own power and he smiled slightly at his mother, framed in the doorway, before her worried expression reminded him of the previous night’s events, clenching his stomach, the pain radiating anew.

“Blaine? Your friend—I think his name is Artie—he’s downstairs,” she spoke softly, as though he was suffering from a hangover and not a broken heart.  “He says you all are meant to be working on some sort of project. I told him…I told him you weren’t feeling well but that I would check and see if you were up to it.”

“Oh! For AP European History,” Blaine muttered, clapping his hand to his forehead. “Thank you, Mom,” he said through a pained smile. “Umm…would you mind telling him I’ll be down in a minute?” he asked, closing his eyes and pushing his cheek into the pillow.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom,” he lied, obligation rolling him onto his back, stretching his stiff muscles. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as his mother. Blaine guessed he was more successful in persuading her, for she tiptoed backward kissing the door to the frame. Blaine forcibly exhaled the air that had been trapped in his gut, blocked by the grief that had settled in his chest when the events of last night arose in his mind. He ran his hands over his face, threw back the sheets, and found he was still wearing the now irretrievably wrinkled sweater vest and crooked bow tie. Sighing at the discovery, he rolled from the bed and trudged downstairs. He did not have the energy or motivation to rectify his disheveled appearance much less work with Artie on their project, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to be rude.

“Wow, man, you look like hell,” Artie breathed, clearly not as committed to manners as Blaine.

“Thanks, Artie,” Blaine said sarcastically, running his hand absently through his slowly frizzing hair.

“So that’s what you’ve been hiding under those layers of gel?” Artie quipped.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, the curls…” Blaine shrugged. “Umm…Artie…honestly, I just came down to tell you I’m not really up to working on our project today. I…I’m not feeling well,” he muttered, casting his eyes to the side. At least it wasn’t a complete lie.  “I’m really sorry. Can we do it another time?”

“Sure. Not a problem. I’ll just go.”

Blaine exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thanks Artie, I’ll help—“

“But not before you tell me what’s  _really_  wrong.”

“Wha—?“

“Blaine,” Artie cut him off, cocking an eyebrow and rolling to where Blaine stood at the foot of the stairs. “You bailed on me and Tina yesterday, you ignored her texts, then you don’t answer my calls this morning or come out to help me out of my dad’s car, and now you stumble down the stairs like something out of  _Thriller_ , Jerry Curl and all, saying we can’t work on the project, and you expect me to believe you’re ‘not feeling well?’” Artie accused, adding air quotes for emphasis.

Even if Blaine had possessed the mental strength to lie in that moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to—he was already lonely enough. Why push away someone who wanted in?

“Kurt and I had a fight.” The words and the bitter truth beneath them were like acid on his tongue.

“So, he finally called?” Artie asked.

“Yeah…Skype…how did you know?”

“Tina.” They both nodded knowingly. “Well…” Artie pressed, “is everything alright? Did you work things out?”

Blaine felt as though his current state should be answer enough, but he dropped his head and shook it before whispering, “I think…I think we broke up.”

“No!” Artie blurted, his eyes wide with shock. Somehow Artie’s level of disbelief, as though a universal law had been violated, was some small consolation, a reassurance that he, Blaine, hadn’t been foolish to believe…still believe. “What do you mean you ‘think’? What happened?” Artie pressed.

“I…I…there was yelling,” Blaine stuttered, “and I said…I said I was done and pretty much hung up in his face.” Ashamed at the admission, Blaine could not meet Artie’s questioning eyes.

“Blaine?” Artie shook his head as if trying to juggle this new, conflicting information so that it aligned with what he already knew of Kurt and Blaine.  Artie’s expression made it clear he had failed.

“I know…” Blaine breathed, “but you don’t know the circumstances. I tried to call him back, but he wouldn’t answer.”

“Did you call him again?”

“Yes. Of course,” Blaine said, flipping his hands in tired exasperation at his side. “I told you, he wouldn’t answer.”

“Then call him again,” Artie said matter-of-factly, jutting his chin out slightly.

“Artie,” Blaine sighed, willing Artie to understand. “He’s not going to—“

“Did you mean it?  _Are_  you done?” Artie’s voice was rising. “Do you  _want_  to break up with him, Blaine?”

“No!” Blaine stumbled backward slightly, surprising even himself with the force and speed of his response, as though his heart did not need assistance from his brain to express its desires, its needs.

“Then call him again,” Artie directed.

“He’s not going to answer.”

“Then you call until he does. You call until he listens.”

“I broke my phone…I can’t,” Blaine tried, shifting his weight and rapidly rubbing the pads of his fingertips along his moistening palms as they shook nervously at his thighs. 

“Then use mine,” Artie insisted, pulling his phone from his pocket with alarming speed and offering it to Blaine who ran an unsteady hand through his curls before reluctantly accepting the phone. 

Blaine stared momentarily at the small device in his hand. “He’s not going to answer, Artie.”

“Yes, he will. If I know Kurt, he’s by the phone right now, waiting for you to call.” Artie flicked his wrists in a shooing gesture, encouraging Blaine to get on with it, and Blaine, scared yet hopeful, dialed Kurt’s number.

Blaine stood there, the phone to his ear, his heart in his throat, each ring a palpitation, a stutter, churning his gut, stinging as he fought to swallow the panic. Then came the telltale click of a presence on the other line and Blaine’s heart stopped. Kurt had answered, though his voice was low and strange.

Blaine forced air out of his lungs, over his vocal chords, around the pulsing in his throat, and breathed, “Kurt?” He spent the last breath he possessed calling out for Kurt, only to realize Kurt was no longer there. Kurt was gone to a place where Blaine’s voice could no longer reach. Blaine was alone on the thin ice of trust and distance, the sound of Timmy’s voice cracking the foundation, Blaine slipped beneath the surface, the icy waters of betrayal drowning out his voice. 

Artie had been wrong. Kurt had not been by the phone waiting. Kurt was in the shower, no doubt washing off the scent and taste of another man while Blaine lay, alone, remembering Kurt’s touch, his kiss, waiting for him to return as promised. 

Their love severed, Blaine no longer felt the reassuring tug deep within, for he knew, no matter how hard he pulled, their connection had gone slack. Kurt was no longer at the other end. The love on which Blaine had depended was now powerless to retrieve him. Instead, Blaine was entangled in it alone, the loose twine binding his arms and ankles and dragging him into the depths. It would be nearly a month before he felt the familiar pull, frayed, but perhaps not yet torn.

 

***

** Wednesday, November 21, 2012 (Past: nearly one month later) **

 

** Him                 2:47pm **

I’m here.

 

** Thursday, November 22, 2012 **

 

** Him                      8:19am **

For you.

** Him                      5:32pm **

I miss you.

** Him                      11:59pm **

I love you.

 

** Friday, November 23, 2012 **

 

** Blaine                   12:01am **

I love you.

** Him                       12:03am **

Can we meet?

** Blaine                    12:06am **

Where?

** Kurt                       12:10am **

At the beginning.


	11. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins the night before the end of chapter 10.  
> This chapter is rated NC-17

** _Friday, October 26, 2012 (Past: the previous night)_ **

 

“You know what, Kurt? It doesn’t matter what you meant, it matters what you  _did_. And I...I can’t. I’m done.”

Blaine slammed his laptop closed and rested his heavy head upon it, his tears falling onto the aluminum surface, glistening atop the dimming logo. This could not be real, it just could not be. Blaine and Kurt were forever. Kurt loved him—of that Blaine had always been certain.

Blaine had been scared to say goodbye, not wanting to be away from the person he loved. He had experienced that pain when Kurt had transferred back to McKinley and though Blaine had loved Dalton, he soon realized the miles from Westerville to Lima were too far to have to go to get to Kurt. The larger graduation loomed, the date of distance ironically creeping ever closer, the tighter the ball of nerves in Blaine’s stomach had become. Compared to Westerville, New York was a world away.

But Blaine had believed in their love, knowing that no matter the distance it would keep them connected, the twine of it would stretch over the hills and valleys, and while it may fray it would never tear. They wouldn’t let it. As long as they both felt the pull, Blaine knew their love was still there, still real, ready and able to pull him from the despair of his surroundings back into the arms of his love. He just had to wait. And he had waited, because he made a promise. They both had.

 

** Sunday, June 3, 2012 (Past: four months earlier) **

 

Kurt’s graduation dinner had gone just as one would have expected. Carole had prepared a wonderful meal, the Berry Dads had done a moving rendition of  _Climb Every Mountain_ , Rachel had cried dramatically, Finn bumbling through an attempt to comfort her. Burt had offered sage advice as only he could, and Blaine had held tight to Kurt’s hand the entire time. Blaine didn’t even let go while he and Kurt washed the dishes together, making the process exceedingly slow, but Kurt had not protested even when it had resulted in dirty dishwater being splashed onto his couture jeans. Kurt did not want to let go either.

After cleaning the kitchen, their knuckles aching, Kurt and Blaine let go momentarily to switch hands, and then snuggled up on the couch to watch a movie with the whole Hudson-Hummel & Berry clan. Blaine took up a spot in the corner of one of the couches, and Kurt leaned against him and stretched his legs out over the couch, his head resting in the crook of Blaine’s shoulder and the arm Blaine had wrapped around him, their fingers clasped together at Kurt’s chest.

Neither Kurt nor Blaine followed much of the movie’s plot. Blaine lost long stretches of time staring down at Kurt and planting gentle kisses upon the crown of his head. Kurt spent most of his time gazing at their intertwined fingers only to glance up at the feel of Blaine’s lips against his temple and give him a warm smile. Blaine’s eyes would return to the screen, but Kurt’s lingered on the strong line of Blaine’s jaw and the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple before returning again to their fingers and waiting for the cycle to repeat.

Blaine had been trying to swallow his nerves the whole night, but as the movie ended, Blaine was sure the butterflies in his stomach had mounted an escape and attempted to fly, all at once, up his esophagus and out of his mouth but had found themselves lodged in his windpipe.

The previous night, while Blaine lay in bed listening contentedly to the sound of Kurt’s voice on the phone, pretending to go through their nightly moisturizing routine, Kurt had said there was something important he wanted to talk to Blaine about but that it would have to wait until the following night. Thousands of wings had immediately taken flight in Blaine’s belly. The next day was graduation and that night Blaine would be spending the night in the Hudson-Hummel house, in Kurt’s bed—with parental permission for a change. That meant Blaine could fall asleep cuddled in Kurt’s arms without worrying about waking up in a panic at 6am to the sound of Burt’s heavy footfalls and the force of Kurt pushing him out of and under the bed where Blaine would spend the better part of the next hour whispering through the box spring and mattress formulating a plan of escape with Kurt. Thankfully, that had only happened once before they started setting alarms prior to engaging in late night cuddles. However, Blaine did not have to set an alarm that night, because Kurt’s casual announcement had set off a ringing in his ears and a fluttering in his stomach that did not let him sleep. He was still trying to come to terms with the good fortune that Burt and Carole were granting him the opportunity to share a bed with Kurt for a night; especially with the nights they had remaining dwindling down to nothing. Now there was something important they needed to discuss? It was just a little too much for Blaine to handle.

The Hudson-Hummels and Berrys had agreed to let Kurt and Blaine and Finn and Rachel spend this night together, seeing as both couples were struggling with impending separation (Finn was going to remain in Ohio and work at Burt’s tire shop until he figured out what he wanted to do with his life other than spend it with Rachel). To make the arrangement tolerable, the respective parental units had decided to share the responsibility of housing the overly dramatic couples. So, when the movie ended and the Berrys left, it was with Finn in tow.

After everyone said their goodbyes, Kurt and Blaine turned, still hand in hand, to head up the stairs to Kurt’s room.

“Boys,” Burt called. “I know that tonight is… _special_ ,” he cleared his throat, “for you both, so” he sighed, “I won’t ask that you keep the door open, but please respect our home and each other.”

“Of course, Dad,” Kurt tried for nonchalance but his widening eyes gave him away.

“Yes sir, Mr. Hummel,” Blaine gulped again, with a little nod. Blaine always became extra formal when under the directive of an adult. In situations like these, Burt had given up reminding Blaine to call him Burt and instead just laughed it off and took it for what is was – a show of love and respect.

Once in Kurt’s room, Kurt let go of Blaine’s hand, shut his door and declared, “Finally!”

“Finally, what?” Blaine asked, his face confused as he stretched his fingers, feeling the blood rush back to his fingertips.

“Finally we can talk,” Kurt said with a little chuckle, gesturing toward the bed.

“About what?” Blaine asked, not moving from the door, the weight of the moment riveting him to the spot.

“I know you’ve been worried about me leaving,” Kurt began without preamble.

“Kurt, no, I haven’t bee—“

“Stop it, Sweetie,” Kurt soothed, walking toward Blaine and putting his steady hands on Blaine’s quivering shoulders. “You don’t have to keep up this routine anymore. You’re wonderful and you’ve been amazingly supportive and being worried about me leaving doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend, Blaine.”

Blaine dropped his head. “I just didn’t want you to worry about me worrying…”

“I know. And what’s crazy is that somehow that makes you even more adorable,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes and placing a gentle kiss to Blaine’s forehead.

Blaine’s relief rushed out in one breath. “Well in that case,” he snapped his head up, looking Kurt in his eyes, “I’m scared, Kurt.”

“I know.”

“But not because I don’t trust you.”

“I know.”

“It’s because…” Blaine paused and looked away.

“You can’t stand to be away from the person that you love?”

Blaine nodded.

“I’m scared too, Honey. But we’re going to be fine.” Kurt cupped Blaine’s warm face in his hand and Blaine nodded into the touch, his eyes falling shut as he whispered, “Promise?”

“It’s funny you should say that, because that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Kurt said, flashing a coy smile.

Blaine’s eyebrows rose in question.

“Sit down,” Kurt lightly instructed, leading Blaine by the shoulders to the edge of his bed. After depositing Blaine, Kurt walked over to his bookshelf and began fiddling with his iPod, slowly swaying his hips to a melody in his mind.

“Kurt?” Blaine’s brow furrowed and he stared anxiously at his boyfriend’s back. “What are you—” 

“Shh,” Kurt quieted, turning away from the speakers on his bookshelf for a second to shoot Blaine a playful smile. “Just listen.”

[As the music began](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQ0kh3k0LKE), Kurt walked slowly, intently toward Blaine.

“ _If you wait for me_ ,” Kurt sang, soft and low. “ _Then I’ll come for you_.” Reaching the bed, Kurt ran his soft hand along Blaine’s cheek, threading his fingers into Blaine’s hair. “ _Although, I’ve traveled far, I always hold a place for you in my heart._ ”

Blaine sat frozen on the edge of the bed, staring up at Kurt, the heat in Kurt’s eyes igniting the hairs on Blaine’s skin. As Kurt slipped his leg in between Blaine’s, Blaine’s lips parted, his jaw slightly dropping, mimicking Kurt’s downward motion as he sank into the space between.

“ _If you think of me_ ,” Kurt hummed, running his supple hands up Blaine’s firm thighs, the firing of Blaine’s taught muscles tangible through the smooth denim. “ _If you miss me once in a while_ ,” Kurt sang, undoing the first button of Blaine’s cardigan, “ _then I’ll return to you_.” Then the second button slipped loose, and the third, Blaine’s breath coming quickly as Kurt finally slid the cardigan from Blaine’s trembling shoulders. “ _Then, I’ll return and fill that space in your heart._ ”

Kurt drew a line up Blaine’s arm, allowing his hand to veer and linger for a moment over the rapid beating of Blaine’s heart, before dropping them to Blaine’s waist and gently tugging the fitted polo from where it was tucked into his jeans. Blaine lifted his arms into the air, allowing Kurt to pull the polo from his warm, olive skin, and toss it aside, forgotten.

_ Remembering _

_ Your touch _

_ Your kiss _

_ Your warm embrace _

_ I’ll find my way back to you _

_ If you’ll be waiting _

 

As Kurt sang, he fed upon Blaine’s flesh with his hands and mouth as though air was a luxury that he would forever forgo in order to gorge himself on the sustenance of Blaine’s skin. Dragging his lips along Blaine’s collarbone, Kurt took one last taste before pulling away and rising to his full height, standing, still warm and present, between Blaine’s legs.

Blaine tried to meet Kurt’s eyes where they loomed above him, but his own were focused instead on where Kurt’s fingers were running along the hem of his own shirt. Slowly, inch-by-inch, Kurt revealed the perfectly muscled porcelain skin of his torso. Blaine had wondered why Kurt had chosen such a simple ensemble for an occasion as significant as graduation, but as the cashmere dislodged a few strands of Kurt’s perfectly coifed hair on its journey from his body to the floor, realization struck Blaine and sent a tremor up his leg.

“ _If you dream of me, like I dream of you_ ,” Kurt’s ethereal tone ghosted over Blaine’s skin as he leaned in and guided Blaine gently backward onto the bed. Kurt made easy work of Blaine’s belt and top button. “ _In a place that’s warm and dark_ ,” Kurt hummed over the vibration of Blaine’s lowering zipper. “ _In a place where I can feel the beating of your heart_.”

Kurt palmed Blaine firmly through his jeans and Blaine’s chin snapped up to his chest, his eyes seeking out Kurt, but the sexy smirk on Kurt’s lips sent Blaine’s head crashing back down to the mattress and his hips jerking into the air – a welcome assist as Kurt all at once freed Blaine of his jeans and briefs.

_ Remembering _

_ Your touch _

_ Your kiss _

_ Your warm embrace _

_ I’ll find my way back to you _

_ If you’ll be waiting _

 

Suddenly, Blaine was awash in the touch of Kurt’s lips as Kurt crawled upward, rubbing his now naked body up that of Blaine’s, leaving kisses in his wake. When Kurt’s trail reached the quivering bulge of Blaine’s throat, Blaine embraced Kurt, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s back, as Kurt, straddling Blaine, breathed into his ear, his voice hoarse and heavy with want, “ _I’ve longed for you, and I have desired_.” Kurt placed a chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips and gazed lovingly down at him. “ _To see your face, your smile. To be with you wherever you are_.”

_ Remembering _

_ Your touch _

_ Your kiss _

_ Your warm embrace _

_ I’ll find my way back to you _

_ If you’ll be waiting _

  
Suddenly overcome, the love in Kurt’s heart began to pour gently from his eyes, sliding slowly down his cheeks. Blaine took Kurt’s face and the fruits of his love into his hands, before wrapping his arms once more around Kurt and in one seamless motion rolling them, taking Kurt’s willing body beneath his own. Kurt, thighs tight around Blaine’s hips, ran a foot along Blaine’s calf, and too breathless to sing, threaded his fingers into Blaine’s hair, stared into his eyes and with the earnestness of a prayer, uttered, “Together again, it would feel so good to be in your arms where all my journeys end.”

At that, Blaine, hovering over Kurt, his elbows at Kurt’s shoulders, caressed Kurt’s temples with his fingertips and lowered his forehead to rest atop Kurt’s. Kurt’s breath was cool and sweet on Blaine’s lips as he whispered, “If you can make a promise. If it’s one that you can keep. I vow to come for you. If you wait for me.” Blaine shut his eyes against his own tears but not before one escaped, trickling gracefully down his nose, and onto Kurt’s cheek, making a home with Kurt’s tears.

Kurt cupped Blaine’s face in his hand, lifting him slightly to look into his eyes. Then, in a broken voice, strengthened by love, he implored of Blaine, “Say you’ll hold a place for me in your heart.”

“Kurt, you  _are_  my heart,” Blaine breathed into Kurt’s mouth. Blaine’s tongue followed his words, sliding over Kurt’s lips as they closed around his tongue.

Kurt briefly immersed himself in the kiss, dampening his lips, before emerging, shivering yet refreshed. Cheek to cheek, Kurt’s lips brushed against Blaine’s earlobe as he panted, “Blaine,” sheer determination to follow through on his plan the only thing keeping him afloat. “I know you’re scared. I was too,” Kurt confessed. “I was afraid of how much I love you…afraid I would get hurt.”

“I would never hurt you, Kurt,” Blaine assured, lifting himself slightly to speak his truth to Kurt’s eyes.

“I know,” Kurt soothed, straining upward and quieting Blaine with a kiss. “And I can’t trust you more or love you less and…and that’s how I know, Blaine. That’s how I know this is forever. And I may be leaving but I’m not leaving  _you_. Ever.”

Blaine bit his lip in a half smile and nuzzled his cheek lovingly against Kurt’s.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” Kurt continued, “if you’re willing to wait, I’ll come back to you. Forever. I promise.”

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life, Kurt.” Rising in his passion, Blaine surged forward, crashing over Kurt. The muscles in Kurt’s neck were taut and strained as he met the tide, and he and Blaine were swept away by the undertow, mouths open, tasting, swallowing, lungs filling with the breath of the other, fully submerged.

Blaine’s hunger for Kurt dragged him into the depths of his desire and suddenly Blaine was bent over Kurt as if feeding, licking and blowing at the textured flesh of Kurt’s exposed, erect nipples. Blaine dragged his tongue down Kurt’s pinkening flesh, kissing the smooth lines of his abs, licking at the small, indented belly button, and blowing chilling breaths over the fine hairs along his lower abdomen, as Kurt came undone beneath him.

Crouched and mouthing along Kurt’s hipbones, Blaine teased a writhing Kurt as he sucked along the pale, firm slope of his inner thighs. He splayed his fingers along the curvature of Kurt’s thighs, pushed them open and upward, so that the heels of his feet brushed gently along Blaine’s shoulder blades.

Blaine exhaled, rubbing his cheek along Kurt’s upper thigh, before darting his tongue into the warm crevice at the meeting of Kurt’s thigh and hip, where he was the sweetest. This earned Blaine a playful smack on the shoulder, and Blaine giggled lightly, smiling up at Kurt before licking his wanton lips, and taking Kurt into his moistening mouth. Blaine hummed around Kurt’s length. Blaine loved this – the heavy weight of Kurt against his tongue, the pliancy of the smooth flesh of Kurt’s shaft, the way the taste of Kurt made his mouth water, the liquid clinging to and sliding down Kurt’s hardness.

With lips wrapped firmly around Kurt’s cock, Blaine inhaled, pressing his tongue along the veins of Kurt’s shaft, around the tip, dabbing into the slit, the bitter taste of Kurt’s seed eliciting a moan from deep within Blaine’s belly.

Blaine came up for air, stroking Kurt while he sucked one finger wet and moistened the circumference of Kurt’s entrance before dipping in and allowing Kurt’s body to swallow his finger as he again swallowed Kurt. Kurt’s body clenched with the sensation and the resulting, involuntary muscle spasm pushed the heels of Kurt’s feet down harder on Blaine’s back, urging him on.  As Blaine’s finger glided easily in and out of Kurt’s warmth, Blaine suddenly jerked up his head, Kurt’s length popping out of his mouth with a lewd slurp. “Kurt,” Blaine moaned, pushing in two fingers with ease, “are you…already…ready?”

Kurt’s hooded eyes, looking down the length of his body, glistening with sweat, fell on Blaine’s awe-filled face. Drawing the corner of his lip under his teeth, Kurt nodded sheepishly, “…I…wanted to be prepared.”

Blaine’s eyes rolled beneath his fluttering lids and he only managed a broken, “Uhh, I love you so mu—“ before blocking the flow of his own words with Kurt’s cock, licking and sucking in time with the rise and fall of his slickening grip, the knuckles of his other hand disappearing into Kurt, arching the back of Kurt’s already thrashing body. The need for discretion bit down hard on Kurt’s lip and halted his breathing. Kurt was afraid even a simple exhale would call forth the moans and wails building in the pit of his stomach, where Blaine’s sweat-freed curls tickled the sensitive flesh of his mid-drift with each eager drop of Blaine’s head creating a maddening sensation that locked Kurt’s knees and curled his toes.

Kurt could take no more. His left hand clawing at Blaine’s shoulder, Kurt shoved his other hand under the pillow beside his head, clutching wildly at fabric before closing around one of the condoms he had strategically placed there that morning. “Come here,” Kurt pleaded, forcing the wrapper into his mouth and tearing it unceremoniously with his teeth.

At the sound, Blaine shimmied, panting, up Kurt’s body, planting himself astride Kurt’s torso. “Where were you hiding that?” Blaine smirked.

“Under the pillow,” Kurt shrugged shyly, sliding the condom over Blaine, feeling the rapid pulse of Blaine’s heart in his hand. “I told you…I wanted to be prepared.”

Kurt grinned and Blaine’s eyebrows nearly retreated into his hairline as he watched Kurt’s hand again dart beneath the pillow near his head and retrieve a small container of lubrication. Kurt flicked open the cap and drizzled the liquid over Blaine, sheathed and pulsing, as Kurt lightly massaging him with his hand, though Blaine certainly did not need further encouragement. Blaine began to tremble, and Kurt, thinking it was his touch that elicited such a response, was a bit surprised when he glanced up from where his hand was caressing Blaine, to see Blaine smiling, his eyes closed, clearly trying to suppress giggles. Blaine was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Kurt asked suspiciously, stilling his hand.

Blaine’s eyes shot open, “Oh, Babe, no,” Blaine soothed, covering Kurt’s hand with his, stroking it in hopes that Kurt would resume stroking him. “I’m sorry about the laughing…it’s just…I…” he stuttered. “When we’re like this…doing this…and you’re so prepared…and thoughtful…ugh, it’s just so  _you_ , and you’re so adorable, and I can’t help but smile,” Blaine rambled, reaching out to softly swipe his fingertips along Kurt’s cheek, “because all I can think about is how much I love you and I want to tell you every time I think it, but then I don’t because I don’t want you to think that somehow I love you more when we’re like  _this_ , because I love you  _all_  the time, and if I told you every time I thought it, I think it’d be the only thing I ever said,” Blaine chuckled. “And it’s silly because as much as I think it I’m still worried I don’t say it enough, and it’s just so obvious how crazy you make me and I thi—“

“Trust me,” Kurt interrupted, “you tell me enough.” Kurt rubbed his hands up the muscled contours of Blaine’s arms, onto his shoulders, and brought him down into a kiss.

“I could never tell you enough,” Blaine whispered against Kurt’s mouth.

And with only those three words in his mind and on his lips, Blaine slid between Kurt’s thighs and into his heat. Kurt’s interlocked ankles rested comfortably at the base of Blaine’s spine, as their hips met, their bodies flush, Kurt’s arousal pulsing between them. These initial stationary moments were always the most intense, their breath syncing along with their bodies, as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the thin rims of blue and hazel nearly washed out by the overflow of pleasure. Blaine’s breath was shallow and light as he forgot the convention of oxygen and was consumed by the feel of Kurt contracting around him, adjusting to allow him entry. Kurt lay still, relishing the subtle pulse and motion, foreign yet achingly familiar, rippling inside him with every beat of Blaine’s heart, as though Blaine was living within him.

Tightening his thighs around Blaine’s gently trembling hips, Kurt took Blaine’s face into his hands and through quivering lips, said, “I want you to remember this. The feel of us.” And they both felt it, the slow drag and delicious friction of their connection, Kurt enveloping Blaine at every entry and clinging at every exit. Blaine moaned loudly into the slick curve of Kurt’s throat, the moist heat of his breath bending Kurt’s fingers, where they dug into the rippling sway of Blaine’s back and fumbled for purchase as the increasing motion of their bodies undulated, the strength and speed threatening to toss them into pleasure’s abyss but for their tenuous grips on each other and reality.  

Blaine’s hips began to stutter and he muttered something Kurt could not quite hear.

“What, Blaine? What is it?” Kurt managed through frantic breaths.

“Switch?” Blaine moaned the request into Kurt’s ear. Feeling more than seeing Kurt’s eager nod, Blaine slipped out of Kurt, eliciting obscene moans from both of them. Kurt and Blaine’s hands fumbled together as they both jammed their hands beneath the jostled pillow by Kurt’s head. Blaine’s shaking fingers closed around the small, square packaging and he struggled for a moment with the wrapping before shaking his head, realizing there wasn’t enough blood in his fingers or brain to produce the needed dexterity for the task at hand. Chuckling, Kurt traded the container of lubrication he had retrieved for the condom that had defeated Blaine.  Kurt freed the circular prize from the evil wrapping, but Blaine, so eager, already drizzling the cool thick liquid into his palm, playfully snatched it from Kurt’s hand, declaring, “I can take it from here.” Blaine smiled and smoothed the latex down Kurt’s shaft. “Sit up for me?” Blaine requested.

Kurt lifted himself onto his elbows and shimmied backward so he was sitting upright, his back resting against the headboard.  “Hmm, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Babe,” Blaine said, faux seriousness on his face as he grabbed the top of the headboard and gave it a little jiggle.

Kurt giggled despite himself, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Blaine crawled backward into the middle of the bed, motioning for Kurt to follow. Using the heels of his feet as leverage, Kurt bent his knees and slid his lube-slicked bottom along the sheets, the curve and motion of his knees making him look like some wonky caterpillar. Blaine dropped his head in laughter and Kurt shoved playfully at Blaine’s shoulder.

“You’re so cute,” Blaine grinned, moving in and straddling Kurt’s legs where he now sat in the center of the bed. 

“Am I still cute?” Kurt quipped as he darted a hand between Blaine’s thighs and slid in a finger, wiggling it slightly to elicit the desired reaction. Blaine hummed and nodded, leaning into Kurt and with a low, seductive whisper, he assured, “The cutest.” Still on his knees, Blaine rocked back and forth onto Kurt’s fingers, nipping playfully at Kurt’s neck with every forward motion. “I like it best when we’re face to face,” Blaine whispered, dropping a kiss onto Kurt’s smiling lips. “Criss cross, apple sauce,” Blaine sang, pointing down to Kurt’s legs.

“You’re ridiculous,” Kurt said, shaking his head, but doing as Blaine requested, crossing his ankles and pulling them in so that his knees bowed out.

“Yep,” Blaine quipped, rising onto his spread knees, hovering momentarily over Kurt’s sheathed and glistening cock. “But you love me.”

Before Kurt could verbally assure Blaine that was indeed the case, Blaine was lowering himself, impossibly slow and tight. Down a centimeter, then up. Kurt’s breath caught in his throat, mouth open, jaw trembling. Down an inch, then up. Blaine worked himself open on Kurt’s cock, his thighs vibrating with the effort. The rising sensation stole Kurt’s ability to form adult, coherent speech, reducing him to whimpers as he and Blaine locked eyes, the sight of the other the only thing keeping them from rolling into the pleasure fluttering their heavy lids.

Then, all at once, Blaine was sitting in Kurt’s lap, legs wrapped around his slim, quaking waist, ankles locked at the base of his erect spine, with Kurt large and pulsing inside of him. They were like two interlocked rings, connected at the curve, the center of themselves, lost in the infinite bliss.

They had tried this before, after an embarrassing and eye opening search for new positions that would allow them to make love in the way they had been accustomed since their first meeting: eye to eye.  Blaine had been seated at his desk, Kurt peering through his fingers over Blaine’s shoulder at the glaring computer screen, the occasional gasp escaping between lamentations of the clearly poor choices that had transpired in the lives of the people depicted in the decidedly adult advertisements outlining the page.  However, Kurt’s hands had fallen from his mouth to Blaine’s shoulders, a high-pitched “Oh!” coursing out and catching Blaine’s interest right behind his navel when their current position had miraculously materialized on the screen.

“I…I…like that one,” Kurt’s voice had crept out, low and shy. “I’d…get to see you.”

“Yeah?” Blaine said, turning slightly to see the blush coloring Kurt’s cheekbones.

“Yeah.”

“Do you…want to try it?”

Kurt nodded and, after Blaine diligently scrubbed his browser history, they had.  It failed spectacularly. They hadn’t been able to set the right rhythm, Kurt had been a bit too heavy on Blaine’s smaller thighs, and kept swiveling in when he was supposed to roll out, and they had both ended up with bruised foreheads after Blaine’s sudden and painful leg cramp sent them tumbling into each other and over the side of the bed amidst Blaine’s distressed cries of “Charlie horse! Charlie horse!” But that did not defeat their efforts – they were nothing if not determined.

Sure, other positions worked fine. They were Kurt and Blaine, the sexual chemistry and tension was palpable—their bodies communicated in any position. However, their union emitted a special passion when physicality and intimacy collided at the meeting of their eyes.  For it was there, in the swirling pools of blue and hazel, that their love was made, their bodies merely dipping into the well of love poured from their eyes.  With practice, Kurt and Blaine had soon found that The Lotus was perfect, Blaine seated astride Kurt’s surging hips, his petite frame easier to lift.

Now, they were experts. Kurt took Blaine’s supple ass into his hands, assisting as they rocked, in sync, out and away, Kurt gliding deliciously to Blaine’s rim, Blaine’s body clinging to the head of Kurt’s cock, fragile and twitching, before rolling back in, hip to hip, Blaine swathing Kurt’s girth.

Their bodies fell into the familiar rhythm, increasing with the pace of their hearts, blood coursing hot and thick through their veins, pooling at the center of their bodies, where they met, engorged, the tips of their nerves igniting, begging for their pleasure to froth over and douse the heat threatening to engulf them.

Blaine fell into the flames, bracing himself against Kurt, his head against Kurt’s shoulder as Kurt’s broken moans licked like flames from his lips, singeing Blaine’s ear and neck, blood rushing to the surface like smoke. Blaine clinched his eyes shut, the pressure of his climax building at the base of his spine, threatening to blow and shatter his fragile hold on his sanity. Kurt was already gone, mouth wide, head thrown back, sucking in what air he could as Blaine’s walls closed around him, squeezing the contours of his cock with each tremor he elicited from Blaine’s body.

Wisps and whines of hunger and desperation ran from Kurt’s mouth, and knowing he would beat Kurt to the finish if he didn’t, Blaine released his tenuous grip on Kurt’s sweat soaked back and slid two fingers into Kurt’s willful mouth, giving him something to suck, dampening his pangs like a light meal before dessert.

But the warm, tight moisture around his fingers and the steady, simultaneous push of Kurt’s wet tongue between his fingers and heavy cock into his ass lit his appetite and Blaine dropped down, gluttonous, onto Kurt’s twitching hardness and came, throwing his head back, sated, only to have it caught by Kurt’s hand and his mouth filled with Kurt’s thrusting tongue, who, in his own climax, had pushed Blaine’s fingers from his swollen lips choosing to feast on Blaine’s instead.

Panting and spent, they fell sideways, Kurt slipping from Blaine body, the last, wet drag of friction taxing their sensitive nerves. Blaine, shaking, sucked in a gust of air through the walls of his teeth and Kurt shuddered out one last heady moan, rolling into Blaine, their sweat glazed foreheads kissing before, seeing the wrecked state of the other, they both dissolved into the satisfied giggles of two boys full on love. What a scene they must have been: a teeming mass of naked, intertwined, trembling limbs, in the center of Kurt’s Egyptian Cotton 600 thread count sheets, now dirty with love.

 

***

The warmth of the sun tickled Blaine’s eyelids and they blinked open, his lashes grazing the tender curve of Kurt’s neck. On mornings like this, Blaine always relished the first taste of air, filling his lungs, taking in the heavy musk that always clung deliciously to Kurt’s skin – the smell of them, the scent of their love. Blaine parted his lips and suckled Kurt’s neck, savoring the flavor of the mingled drops of last night’s efforts. Blaine feasted while he could, knowing that soon Kurt would wake and wash it all away, clearing and redressing the table, leaving Blaine hungry for another meal.

Blaine preferred to bathe Kurt with his mouth, but Kurt often protested, believing such activities pleasurable but inefficient. Kurt was, of course, correct as had been empirically proven on the few occasions Kurt had allowed them to indulge, only to leave them caked in another layer, more exhausted and dirtier than before.

“Hungry, are we?” Kurt said, his normally light voice weighted down with sleep.

“Mmm hmm,” Blaine hummed around a mouthful of Kurt’s flesh. “Always hungry for you,” Blaine garbled between nibbles.

“That certainly seems to be the case,” Kurt giggled, “but I’m hungry for breakfast and we have to get cleaned up. If Dad finds us like this, he’ll be hungry for your blood.” Kurt began the task of untangling their love-tacky limbs, but before he could properly extricate himself, Blaine rolled him onto his back, maneuvering himself on top of Kurt and began licking him in earnest.

“Ahh!” Kurt shrieked, squirming and playfully pushing against Blaine’s chest. “What is wrong with you?!” Kurt asked in mock accusation.

“I’m hungry, you’re  _unclean_ ,” Blaine explained, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m killing two birds with one stone.”

“Oh my god, my boyfriend is insane!”

“Wait!” Blaine said, pulling back, eyes wide with shock. “Who is this ‘boyfriend’ of which you speak? Is there someone else?” Blaine couldn’t stop himself from cracking a wry smile.

“You are impossible!” Kurt laughed, freeing his hands from Blaine’s grip and pinching and twisting Blaine’s nipple. Blaine yelped and retaliated with tickles, his most effective weapon, but Kurt was too fast for him and before he knew it he was on his back, breathless with laughter, watching Kurt’s perfect, naked bottom scurry across the room and into the adjoining bathroom.

“Don’t worry!” Blaine called after Kurt. “I’ll just wait here!” And he fell back onto the sheets, cradling the back of his head in the palms of his interlocked fingers, sighing contentedly up at the ceiling.

Just then, Kurt poked his nose out of the bathroom door and said, smiling, “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” The door clicked shut once more and Blaine, eyes distant and lips curved, whispered toward the heavens, “I hope so…I hope so…” Twice. For both promises.

** *** **

** Friday, October 26, 2012 **

 

Blaine was not done.  He could never be done, not with Kurt.  Kurt knew that, he had to know that. They could figure this out. They had to.

Blaine scrambled for his phone and dialed.

“Hello, you’ve reached the one and only, Kurt Hummel.”

“Come on, Kurt!” Blaine pleaded, hanging up and dialing again.  “I didn’t mean it. You have to know I didn’t mean it.”

“Hello, you’ve reached th—“

“No, no, no…” Blaine’s anxiety was morphing into anger. Anger at himself for losing control, anger at Kurt for causing this, anger at Timmy for taking advantage, anger at the injustice that caused him to be sitting here, miles from his love, just as it had separated him from Dale and consciousness that night so long ago.

When Blaine heard Kurt’s recorded voice a third time, his rage propelled his phone across the room and into the wall, where it ricocheted, flickered black, and crashed to the floor, shattered and silent.

“Damnit!” Blaine yelled, dropping to his knees beside the remains of his phone, trying in vain to mend it.

“Blaine? I heard a noi—“ his mother stopped mid-sentence, cracking open the door, her eyes settling on Blaine.

“Mom!” Blaine blurted in surprise, turning from her to wipe the tears of which her presence had made him suddenly aware.

“Blaine…what’s wrong?” Camille asked, her voice tentative, wary.  “Is it…is it Kurt?”

His name. Blaine nodded at the sound of it and the weight of acknowledgment, of loss, fell upon him, embarrassment and pride crumbling, giving way to grief and he let the tears fall.

Suddenly, his mother’s arms were wrapped around his hunched and quaking frame. It was a rare but welcome feeling, to be safe again in her arms, shielded at least in part from the realities, the pains of a life beyond her reach, on the outskirts of childhood, looking in on and longing for the carefree bliss and ignorance of those who had never endured love. There, on the floor, in his mother’s arms, cradled and crying, Blaine let it spill – their promises, Kurt’s indiscretions, Blaine’s fears.

Some time later, empty and quiet, Blaine lay on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest, head resting in his mother’s lap, her soft soothing hand brushing gently at his temple, as his heartbeat began to slow, falling in time with the steady rise and fall of her chest.

“Sweetheart,” her voice crept out, as if reluctant to interrupt Blaine’s mourning. “You should call him.”

“My phone…” Blaine’s voice was hollow and hoarse.

“I know. Let me get mine,” she whispered, adjusting as if to rise. Blaine’s arms instinctually tensed around her waist. He was not ready to let go, to be left alone.

“Blaine, please,” she implored, though she did not make to move again.

“No…he…he doesn’t want to talk me…” his words were labored, washed out in the initial flood, and he was trying now to lessen the force of the rising tide by allowing small drops of the truth to trickle out.

“You don’t know th—“

“I called, Mom,” Blaine interrupted. “He…he won’t answer.”

“I’m sure he’s just upset,” she comforted, affecting a light, optimistic tone.

“I told him I was…that I was done. He thinks…it’s over,” painful resignation was audible in Blaine’s broken voice.

“Give him some time,” his mother advised, stroking a stray curl coiled at his furrowed brow. “That’s what I do with your father…” They stiffened both at the mention of his father and the implicit comparison of the relationships – it was the first time his mother had referenced what he and Kurt had—used to have—as if it were normal, okay. “Call him in the morning.”

Blaine nodded into her lap, too weak to protest.  Satisfied, she adjusted slightly, leaned her back comfortably against the foot of his bed, and threaded her fingers into his hair. Secure in her presence, Blaine loosened his grip and lowered himself into sleep.

 

***

Blaine awoke to his mother’s voice, distant, her comforting touch gone, replaced by the warmth of his pillow and embrace of his sheets. Though his memory was crawling out of unconsciousness, he was certain he had not arrived there by his own power and he smiled slightly at his mother, framed in the doorway, before her worried expression reminded him of the previous night’s events, clenching his stomach, the pain radiating anew.

“Blaine? Your friend—I think his name is Artie—he’s downstairs,” she spoke softly, as though he was suffering from a hangover and not a broken heart.  “He says you all are meant to be working on some sort of project. I told him…I told him you weren’t feeling well but that I would check and see if you were up to it.”

“Oh! For AP European History,” Blaine muttered, clapping his hand to his forehead. “Thank you, Mom,” he said through a pained smile. “Umm…would you mind telling him I’ll be down in a minute?” he asked, closing his eyes and pushing his cheek into the pillow.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom,” he lied, obligation rolling him onto his back, stretching his stiff muscles. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as his mother. Blaine guessed he was more successful in persuading her, for she tiptoed backward kissing the door to the frame. Blaine forcibly exhaled the air that had been trapped in his gut, blocked by the grief that had settled in his chest when the events of last night arose in his mind. He ran his hands over his face, threw back the sheets, and found he was still wearing the now irretrievably wrinkled sweater vest and crooked bow tie. Sighing at the discovery, he rolled from the bed and trudged downstairs. He did not have the energy or motivation to rectify his disheveled appearance much less work with Artie on their project, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to be rude.

“Wow, man, you look like hell,” Artie breathed, clearly not as committed to manners as Blaine.

“Thanks, Artie,” Blaine said sarcastically, running his hand absently through his slowly frizzing hair.

“So that’s what you’ve been hiding under those layers of gel?” Artie quipped.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, the curls…” Blaine shrugged. “Umm…Artie…honestly, I just came down to tell you I’m not really up to working on our project today. I…I’m not feeling well,” he muttered, casting his eyes to the side. At least it wasn’t a complete lie.  “I’m really sorry. Can we do it another time?”

“Sure. Not a problem. I’ll just go.”

Blaine exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thanks Artie, I’ll help—“

“But not before you tell me what’s  _really_  wrong.”

“Wha—?“

“Blaine,” Artie cut him off, cocking an eyebrow and rolling to where Blaine stood at the foot of the stairs. “You bailed on me and Tina yesterday, you ignored her texts, then you don’t answer my calls this morning or come out to help me out of my dad’s car, and now you stumble down the stairs like something out of  _Thriller_ , Jerry Curl and all, saying we can’t work on the project, and you expect me to believe you’re ‘not feeling well?’” Artie accused, adding air quotes for emphasis.

Even if Blaine had possessed the mental strength to lie in that moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to—he was already lonely enough. Why push away someone who wanted in?

“Kurt and I had a fight.” The words and the bitter truth beneath them were like acid on his tongue.

“So, he finally called?” Artie asked.

“Yeah…Skype…how did you know?”

“Tina.” They both nodded knowingly. “Well…” Artie pressed, “is everything alright? Did you work things out?”

Blaine felt as though his current state should be answer enough, but he dropped his head and shook it before whispering, “I think…I think we broke up.”

“No!” Artie blurted, his eyes wide with shock. Somehow Artie’s level of disbelief, as though a universal law had been violated, was some small consolation, a reassurance that he, Blaine, hadn’t been foolish to believe…still believe. “What do you mean you ‘think’? What happened?” Artie pressed.

“I…I…there was yelling,” Blaine stuttered, “and I said…I said I was done and pretty much hung up in his face.” Ashamed at the admission, Blaine could not meet Artie’s questioning eyes.

“Blaine?” Artie shook his head as if trying to juggle this new, conflicting information so that it aligned with what he already knew of Kurt and Blaine.  Artie’s expression made it clear he had failed.

“I know…” Blaine breathed, “but you don’t know the circumstances. I tried to call him back, but he wouldn’t answer.”

“Did you call him again?”

“Yes. Of course,” Blaine said, flipping his hands in tired exasperation at his side. “I told you, he wouldn’t answer.”

“Then call him again,” Artie said matter-of-factly, jutting his chin out slightly.

“Artie,” Blaine sighed, willing Artie to understand. “He’s not going to—“

“Did you mean it?  _Are_  you done?” Artie’s voice was rising. “Do you  _want_  to break up with him, Blaine?”

“No!” Blaine stumbled backward slightly, surprising even himself with the force and speed of his response, as though his heart did not need assistance from his brain to express its desires, its needs.

“Then call him again,” Artie directed.

“He’s not going to answer.”

“Then you call until he does. You call until he listens.”

“I broke my phone…I can’t,” Blaine tried, shifting his weight and rapidly rubbing the pads of his fingertips along his moistening palms as they shook nervously at his thighs. 

“Then use mine,” Artie insisted, pulling his phone from his pocket with alarming speed and offering it to Blaine who ran an unsteady hand through his curls before reluctantly accepting the phone. 

Blaine stared momentarily at the small device in his hand. “He’s not going to answer, Artie.”

“Yes, he will. If I know Kurt, he’s by the phone right now, waiting for you to call.” Artie flicked his wrists in a shooing gesture, encouraging Blaine to get on with it, and Blaine, scared yet hopeful, dialed Kurt’s number.

Blaine stood there, the phone to his ear, his heart in his throat, each ring a palpitation, a stutter, churning his gut, stinging as he fought to swallow the panic. Then came the telltale click of a presence on the other line and Blaine’s heart stopped. Kurt had answered, though his voice was low and strange.

Blaine forced air out of his lungs, over his vocal chords, around the pulsing in his throat, and breathed, “Kurt?” He spent the last breath he possessed calling out for Kurt, only to realize Kurt was no longer there. Kurt was gone to a place where Blaine’s voice could no longer reach. Blaine was alone on the thin ice of trust and distance, the sound of Timmy’s voice cracking the foundation, Blaine slipped beneath the surface, the icy waters of betrayal drowning out his voice. 

Artie had been wrong. Kurt had not been by the phone waiting. Kurt was in the shower, no doubt washing off the scent and taste of another man while Blaine lay, alone, remembering Kurt’s touch, his kiss, waiting for him to return as promised. 

Their love severed, Blaine no longer felt the reassuring tug deep within, for he knew, no matter how hard he pulled, their connection had gone slack. Kurt was no longer at the other end. The love on which Blaine had depended was now powerless to retrieve him. Instead, Blaine was entangled in it alone, the loose twine binding his arms and ankles and dragging him into the depths. It would be nearly a month before he felt the familiar pull, frayed, but perhaps not yet torn.

 

***

** Wednesday, November 21, 2012 (Past: nearly one month later) **

 

** Him                 2:47pm **

I _’m here._

 

** Thursday, November 22, 2012 **

 

** Him                      8:19am **

_For you._

** Him                      5:32pm **

_I miss you._

** Him                      11:59pm **

_I love you._

 

** Friday, November 23, 2012 **

 

** Blaine                   12:01am **

_I love you._

** Him                       12:03am **

_Can we meet?_

** Blaine                    12:06am **

_Where?_

** Kurt                       12:10am **

_At the beginning._

[](http://wake-up-kid.livejournal.com/4177.html)


	12. Waiting

** Monday, June 2, 2031 (Present)**

Blaine sat alone lost in thought. How had they gotten here? How long had he been waiting?

 

 

** Saturday, March 16, 2013 (Past: Eighteen years ago) **

 

“Damnit, Jermane!” Kurt bellowed as he tumbled over the pair of shoes hidden beneath the steaming pile of filthy laundry in the doorway. “He’s impossible!” Kurt huffed.

“But you’ve got to admit,” Blaine laughed, entering behind Kurt and gingerly extracting a striped cardigan from the pile, “he’s got style.”

“Oh, give me that!” Kurt snatched the sweater from Blaine and threw it unceremoniously back into Jermane’s cesspool of laundry. “I just don’t understand. We were here not five hours ago and it was spotless. How does he do it so fast?”

Actually, by Blaine’s count, they had been gone nearly eight hours, touring the NYU campus and apartment hunting for Blaine who was still vacillating between dorm life and the “mean streets of the city.” The large purple envelope containing his acceptance letter had arrived about a month ago and he had allowed himself a few private, elated tears before picking up the phone and sharing them and the news with Kurt. A few hours later, Kurt had planned this trip and just yesterday Blaine had run from the terminal, bypassed baggage claim, and leapt into Kurt’s waiting arms, kissing him full in the mouth, crowds of bedraggled travelers be damned.

Witnesses to The Great Airport Make Out of 2013 had been a lot more accommodating than Jermane, but, then again, Kurt and Blaine had been fully clothed and Blaine hadn’t been seated, bare assed on their beds with his knuckles tangled in Kurt’s hair as Kurt’s head bobbed up and down in his lap, sucking him into hysterics.

“I think that was Jermane’s question when he walked in yesterday,” Blaine quipped, chuckling at the memory.

“Oh, stop it, you!” Kurt squealed, his cheeks tingeing pink. He gestured around the room as he tiptoed around the abomination blocking the doorway. “Seriously, though, why does he do this?”

“Babe, he walked in on you giving me a blowjob on his bed,” Blaine smiled, “and as much as I loved it—and I did—until we were interrupted, if I were him, I’d probably leave my dirty underwear in the doorway in retaliation as well, if only out of jealousy.”

Kurt sighed. “What can I do? I already apologized?”

“I have [a suggestion](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUY_st9c-QA&feature=related).”

“Anything.” Kurt slumped his shoulders dramatically, pouting.

“ _Live in my house,”_ Blaine sang, taking Kurt’s hands in his _, “I’ll be your shelter. Just pay me back with 1,000 kisses. Be my lover. I’ll cover you.”_

Kurt was scandalized. “Hey! That’s my part!”

“Fine, then  _I’ll_  move in with  _you_ ,” Blaine rushed, eager not to break the timing of the song. “ _Open your door. I’ll be your tenant. Don’t got much baggage to lay at your feet. But sweet kisses I’ve got to spare.”_ He dropped a quick kiss on Kurt’s nose _. “I’ll be there and I’ll cover you._ ” Blaine pulled Kurt to him, wrapped his arms around his waist, and rested his clasped hands at the base of Kurt’s spine. “Sing with me.”

Kurt, needing no excuse, jumped in with perfect, practiced harmony.

I think they meant it when they said you can't buy love  
Now, I know you can rent it   
A new lease you are my love, on life  
Be my life 

“Come on, live with me,” Blaine smiled, swaying them into the empty space between the two beds as they observed the phantom musical break.

Kurt laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“What if I am? You know I’d be better than  _Jermane_.”

“You  _do_  have a point.”

Just slip me on,  
I'll be your blanket  
Wherever, whatever, I'll be your coat

“ _You’ll be my king,”_ Kurt chimed, pressing their foreheads together _, “and I’ll be your castle._ ”

“ _No, you’ll be my queen, and I’ll be your moat_.” Blaine lifted Kurt’s Prom tiara from around the prominently displayed photo of them dancing in the McKinley gym and placed it on Kurt’s head. They sang together.

I think they meant it when they said you can't buy love  
Now I know you can rent it   
A new lease you are my love, on life   
All my life 

_ I've longed to discover   
Something as true as this is _

“ _So, with a thousand sweet kisses_ ” Blaine bellowed, leaping onto the bed.

“ _If you’re cold and lonely,_ ” Kurt sang over Blaine as he ascended gracefully onto the bed with the help of Blaine’s outstretched hand. This was their favorite part of the song, both singing declarations of love to the other, pulling adorable faces sappy with affection.

_ “I’ll cover you, with a thousand sweet kisses—“ _

_ “You’ve got one nickel only—” _

_ “I’ll cover you—”  _ Blaine answered.

_ “With a thousand sweet kisses—“ _

_ “When you’re worn out and tired—” _

_ “I’ll cover you with a thousand sweet kisses—“  _ Kurt cooed.

_ “When your heart has expired.” _

_ “I’ll cover you.” _

Standing on Kurt’s bed, nose to nose, palm to palm, fingers intertwined, they belted the last notes with the natural harmony of two voices, of two people, born to be with one another.

_ “Oh lover, I’ll cover you.” _

High on performance and giggles, they collapsed onto Kurt’s bed, breathless and entangled in each other’s arms.

“Really, Kurt,” Blaine said between breaths, bringing his hand up to smooth the stray hair at Kurt’s temple, “move in with me.”

“Blaine,” Kurt giggled softly, pressing their noses together, “we can’t.”

Blaine pulled back. “Why not?”

Kurt ran a finger along Blaine’s cheek, hoping his touch would un-furrow Blaine’s brow. “Honey, we’re not ready.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’re not ready?’” Blaine’s eyes flinched. “I’m moving to New York, Kurt. It’s happening…I mean…we’ve waited nearly a year for this.”

“I know, Honey. And I’m thrilled. Really,” Kurt implored, locking eyes with Blaine so he could see the truth held within. “It’s just…I know how busy we’re both going to be, and it’s your first year of college and I don’t want to be a  _distraction_.” Kurt cocked an eyebrow on the last word, earning a soft smile from Blaine. “And honestly,” he continued, propping himself on his bicep and supporting his head with his hand as he gazed down at Blaine, “I’ve seen what moving in together, especially too soon, can do. I mean Finn and I  _fought_. It was insane. And that was a year before Sam moved in, and we put on happy faces in public, but every time we made it through the day without taking each other’s lives was an achievement.”

“So, that’s why you were always at my house? And I always thought it was the sex,” Blaine joked, his concern dissipating.

Kurt chuckled. “Well, the sex was certainly 70% of it. But that was just friendship,” Kurt said, returning to the topic at hand. “You’re moving out here. And that’s  _huge_. We’ll see each other all the time. And I’m sure there’ll be plenty of sleepovers,” he winked. “But…one thing at a time okay, Honey?” Kurt breathed, laying back down and placing his head on the pillow, eye to eye with Blaine. “…I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Me either,” Blaine agreed, bringing their lips together briefly before adding, “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Kurt smiled smugly.

“Maybe I’d grow tired of you,” Blaine smirked.

“Oh, you’ll grow and you’ll be tired all right,” Kurt declared, climbing to his knees with shocking speed and attacking Blaine’s sides with his fingertips, tickling him unmercifully.

Blaine tried to fight, but he was outmatched, having been caught completely off guard by Kurt’s sudden onslaught. “I give up! I give up!” Blaine panted, raising his hands in surrender. Kurt relented. Now allies, they lay in the rising silence, Kurt’s head tucked comfortably into the crook of Blaine’s neck and shoulder. Blaine tilted his head and pressed his lips to Kurt’s forehead. “One.”

Kurt’s eyes flitted upward. “One what?”

Blaine kissed the tip of Kurt’s upturned nose. “Two.”

“What are you doing?” Kurt’s face scrunched into a giggle.

“Three.” Blaine pressed his smile to Kurt’s. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting ahead on rent.”

“Well, don’t let me interrupt,” Kurt replied with a coy smile.

“Never. You’re the main attraction. Now where was I?”

Kurt pushed aside his collar and placed a fingertip to the spot just above his collarbone where Blaine’s touch never failed to make him tremble. “Here.”

“Ahh yes, how could I have forgotten?” Blaine nuzzled beneath the fabric of Kurt’s shirt and tasted the cream of his flesh. “Mmm, four.”

They made it to 1,000…three times. Once on Jermane’s bed: payback for the dirty laundry.

***

** Friday, April 29, 2016 (Past: three years later) **

“Come on, Blaine! We’re gonna be late!” They had been looking forward to this night since nearly two years ago when Rachel let slip that she had heard from a cast mate, who heard from a stage manager, who heard from “somebody who would know,” that RENT was going to have a 20 Year Anniversary Revival at the Nederlander Theater. Kurt and Blaine  _had_  to be there.  RENT was one of their favorite musicals for obvious reasons: growing up gay in Ohio, they weren’t afforded many opportunities to see themselves reflected in the media, there was only the theater – particularly, musical theater. But, RENT also carried sentimental weight. Early in their friendship, Greg Evigan had starred in RENT at the local Community Playhouse and Blaine had gotten them tickets.  Kurt had blushed when, years later, cuddled in each other’s arms enjoying a Sappy Couple Q&A (the type that always begins with “What are you thinking about?” and inevitably includes “Why do you love me?”) he admitted he always thought of that as their first date.

“Second,” Blaine had responded, earning an inquisitive look from Kurt. “I took you to lunch after that day on the steps, remember?”

“Yes, but we split the check. Plus, you asked under emotional distress. It doesn’t count.”

“Fine…I wanted it to be though…a date.” Kurt had kissed Blaine quiet, ending the question and answer portion of the evening and beginning the feature presentation.

But, now, if Blaine didn’t hurry up, they would miss the beginning of the show and that was just unacceptable.

“Give me just a second,” Blaine called, “I’m putting the finishing touches on my outfit.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt hissed, storming into his bathroom where Blaine was still getting ready. “You’re worse than m—“ Kurt was cut off by his own gasp, his mouth hanging open, wide eyes trained on Blaine’s neck. “You…you…you’re wearing…”

“Your bowtie,” Blaine nodded, smiling proudly, tweaking the Kurt Hummel creation between his thumb and forefinger.

“But…but… _how?_  They’re under lock and key at the studio.” 

“Tiffany  _may_  have let me in to see what you’ve been working on,” Blaine explained. Kurt’s eyebrows began to rise and Blaine hurried to head him off at the pass. “Please don’t be mad at her, Babe. It’s just, you’ve been working so hard recently, and you’re always at the studio, and I know it’s because you’re graduating in a few weeks, but I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“And…what did you think?” Kurt bowed his head in nervousness.

“I loved it, of course!” Blaine assured. Seeing Kurt’s shy glance, Blaine crooked his forefinger tenderly beneath Kurt’s chin and lifted. “Hey, I’m serious. Everything you’ve created is incredible. It took me nearly an hour just to decide which bowtie I wanted to wear. Tiffany was pissed.”

Kurt huffed. He wrapped himself defensively in his arms and stared down at his shuffling feet. “Good, it’s what she deserves.”

“Hey, now,” Blaine chided, pulling Kurt into his arms. “You can’t be mad at Tiffany for taking pity on a man who was desperate to see what his amazingly talented boyfriend has been sneaking off to create for months now.”

“I’m not  _really_  mad,” Kurt confessed.

“Good,” Blaine gave back, nuzzling their noses. “Then, what’s all this?” Blaine squeezed Kurt’s waist with his elbows as though Kurt was a container of truth and a little gentle pressure would send the desired contents up and out of the mouth of the bottle…or bottler in this case.

“I’m just…scared. I mean…this is it. I’m graduating and I’m going to have to make this work and… _I_  like it, and  _Tiffany_  seems to—“

“And  _I_  love it,” Blaine interrupted.

“That’s because you love me, but…I’m afraid the world won’t.” Kurt’s eyes disappeared beneath his lashes and Blaine remembered—remembered what the strong, firm line of Kurt’s upturned chin often allowed him to forget. This boy. This beautiful, talented, perfect boy, cloaked in confidence, always giving off the air of superiority, deep down, beneath the layers, in a place to which only Blaine and maybe one other had been granted entry, hid the real Kurt—fragile, insecure, but determined to convince the world, but mainly himself, that he was worthy, deserving of all he dared to dream. On rare occasions such as these, Kurt would call to him from that hidden place with the faint, wavering voice of uncertainty and Blaine would answer, calling Kurt forth from the depths of doubt with a voice of validation.

“Kurt, the world is going to love you. I’m sure of it. Do you know how I know?” Blaine gazed fondly at Kurt. “First, I have impeccable taste. Second, what you’ve created really  _is_  wonderful.  I wouldn’t wear it if it weren’t—don’t look at me like that—I’d obviously be supportive, but I’d gently encourage you to try something different.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Blaine confirmed, erasing the remnants of space between them and kissing a smile to Kurt’s lips.

Kurt slowly turned his head out of the kiss, allowing his tongue to drag across Blaine’s lips. “Why tonight?”

“Mmm, what?”

“Why tonight? Why are you wearing it tonight?” Kurt said it twice for Blaine who was clearly lost in the haze of the aftermath of the kiss.

“Oh. Well, if anyone is going to want a one of a kind Kurt Hummel bowtie, they’ll be in the audience of a RENT revival,” Blaine teased. “Plus, if we’re going to get your boutique opened—“

“We don’t have money for that,” Kurt interrupted.

“And we never will if we don’t start selling some of these bowties,” Blaine joked, brushing aside Kurt’s pessimism, which he had learned long ago was Kurt’s self-defense mechanism used to shield himself against what he believed to be certain disappointment. “Free advertising, Kurt!” Finally, Kurt smiled. “But really, Kurt. I’m just so proud of you. I want the world to see what you’re capable of.”

Kurt dropped his head and touched his forehead to Blaine’s. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Blaine breathed. “Speaking of which, we should go or we’re definitely going to be late.”

They almost were. By the time they arrived, the house lights were already down and the usher gave them a very stern look as she led them briskly to their seats, fifth row center. The overture began and Kurt tried to quickly yet gracefully climb over the other patrons but failed horribly, tripping over a woman he swore was Idina Menzel before settling, shaking, in his seat just as the cast ran out onto the stage. Blaine gave Kurt’s hand a calming pat, and the show began.

Blaine was enrapt: RENT was the only musical he had seen more times than Kurt and he was having trouble not mouthing the dialogue. Thankfully, the people around him seemed to be just as enthused as he was and didn’t seem to mind when he hummed along to  _Light My Candle_  or let slip a few audible sniffles during  _Will I_. Kurt, though certainly possessing a flair for the dramatic, had never been one for in-theater displays unless, of course, he was on the stage. Instead, Kurt preferred to sit stoically, almost reverent, as the show washed over him, only allowing himself, at most, a few gasps or a silent tear.

So when Kurt’s countertenor mingled with Angel’s voice and tickled Blaine’s ears, it took a few seconds for his shock to wear off and even longer for him to realize that Kurt wasn’t just singing—Kurt was singing to him.

“ _Live in my house, I’ll be your shelter._   _Just pay me back with 1,000 kisses. Be my lover. I’ll cover you.”_

“Kurt?” Blaine turned, gaping at Kurt, who was smiling at him.

“ _Open your door. I’ll be your tenant.”_ Yep _,_ Kurt was definitely singing, soft, ethereal, and angelic _. “Don’t got much baggage to lay at your feet. But sweet kisses I’ve got to spare. I’ll be there, and I’ll cover you.”_

“That’s  _my_  part,” Blaine whispered, scandalized.

“Then sing,” Kurt offered, his voice hushed.

“What?” Blaine’s eyes were comically wide as they darted around, afraid they were creating a disturbance. “What’s gotten into you? We can’t sing in here!” Blaine hissed with panic.

Kurt, however, was a picture of calm, as he intertwined his fingers with Blaine’s, leaned in, and whispered, “Then we’ll just have to sing it in our apartment.”

“Kurt, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about? Jermane will surely be ba—“

“No,” Kurt cut in gently, shaking his head and giving Blaine’s hand a firm squeeze. “We’ll sing it in  _our_  apartment.”

“What do you mean  _our_  apartment? I don’t…ooh.” Finally interpreting the look on Kurt’s face, understanding dawned and Blaine’s face broke into a wide grin, the smile he only wore for Kurt.

Kurt covered their intertwined fingers with his other hand and in a voice only Blaine could hear, asked, “Live in my house?”

Blaine cupped Kurt’s face in his hand, stared into his eyes, and answered, “I’ll be your tenant.”

“ _You’ll be my king, and I’ll be your castle_ ,” Kurt sang, slipping seamlessly back into the song, as if he were simply turning up the volume on what had previously been background music.

“ _No, you’ll be my queen, and I’ll be your moat_ ,” Blaine sang back, before quieting them both with a kiss—chaste, sweet, and the first of many more than a thousand.

 

***

** Friday, May 11, 2018 (Past: two years later) **

Between his internship at Sony Music—unfortunately unpaid, decidedly thankless, but an unavoidable and necessary step up the ladder of his chosen career path—and the hours he had spent sequestered with Eddie at the dungeon that masqueraded as the studio they rented in order to create and workshop music without driving Kurt and the neighbors to homicide, it had been a long day. A very long day.

Thankfully, Blaine had a rare Friday night off from his stint waiting tables at the cocktail bar around the corner, which, if truth be told, he really needed the hours, and especially the tips, but he pushed the thoughts of the looming rent check he and Kurt would have to pen and focused instead on the weekend he had been looking forward to for over six months--his whole life, really—he was coming to realize.

Blaine was practically giddy with anticipation of some quality time cuddled up with Kurt on their shabby couch that Kurt had expertly salvaged with a classy slip cover that matched the second hand rug and managed to bring the tiny room together in a way that gave it the façade of adulthood. This weekend, Blaine planned on taking another step toward adulthood.

He fumbled with the key, turned the knob, and pushed open the door to the 600 square feet they called home.  Tucking his satchel into the corner, Blaine simultaneously toed off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, and hung it and his keys from the plastic hooks Kurt had adhered to the wall and designated for this purpose. Blaine clapped his hands and rubbed them together as if about to warm them in front of a fire, when in fact he was warming them for Kurt’s skin. “Babe, I’m home. Cuddle time!”

Kurt was seated on the couch. Blaine could see him—the line of his hair crisp and soft on his neck, his back straight and erect, his shoulders tight, stiff. Kurt had not turned toward Blaine’s voice, but Blaine did not need to see Kurt’s face; Blaine could read Kurt’s posture. Worry took hold in the pit of Blaine’s stomach. Nearly a year ago he had come home to find Kurt like this—seated but somehow still seeming to occupy all the vertical space of his stature, staring blankly at the television screen that should have been broadcasting whatever hilariously trashy reality show they had planned to watch that night but instead was black, silent, and reflecting the tight lips, stony eyes, and upturned chin of a Kurt Hummel who had something on his mind. That something turned out to be Blaine’s trust fund.

 

** *** **

** Thursday, June 29, 2017 (Past: 11 months previous) **

Kurt was seated on the couch. He had not turned when Blaine entered, had not returned his greeting. “Your father called.” The ice on Kurt’s words sucked all the warmth from the room.

Blaine inched timidly toward the couch. “My father?” His voice wavered. “What did he want?”

Kurt’s head snapped in Blaine’s direction and the sight of Kurt’s eyes—puffy, red, and angry—froze him where he stood.  “You know what he wanted, Blaine! He wants his money.”

“It’s not his money.”

“He seems to think so.” Kurt was on his feet now.

“Please don’t do this, Kurt. Don’t take his side.”

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t know there were sides to take, Blaine.”

“You knew the money came from somewhere. They don’t lease store fronts to broke college grads. I did this for you. I did this for _us_.”

“I know that, but  _he_  didn’t. And you gave me no warning, Blaine. I didn’t know he didn’t know. And he called, and he never calls, especially not to talk to  _me_! And I was nervous, and he seemed willing to talk to me even though you weren’t here and I wanted to try—try to make him like me—and he was asking questions, like he  _cared_.” Grief broke Kurt’s voice. “…and he asked how we were doing financially and I told him about opening up the boutique and how it was a big investment but we were hoping it would pay off and he started yelling, an—“

“He yelled at you?” Blaine cut in, incredulous.

“He says if you don’t return the money, he’s cutting you off. I can’t let you do this, Blaine.”

“No, Kurt. It’s done. We don’t need him.”

“But—“

“It’s  _my_  trust fund. I checked with our lawyer. Once I graduated, it was all mine, he has no claim to it. It’s my money and there’s plenty left.”

“But, Blaine, he’s your dad, and we…we need money, for rent, for your loans.”

Blaine shook his head, determined. “We’ll be fine. There’s money left. I’ll get another job. You’ll work at the boutique. We’ll make this work.”

Blaine called his father and told him just that while Kurt looked on, crying silently as Blaine severed the thin, fragile ties to his father, pushing off from the dock of childhood, into the choppy waters of uncertainty, securing himself firmly to Kurt and the makeshift raft of a life they were still trying to build together.

Blaine and his father would not speak again for over four years.

*** 

** Friday, May 11, 2018 **

Blaine’s voice was timid. “Kurt?” Blaine did not expect Kurt to turn, knowing from experience he would not. But nothing could have prepared Blaine for what happened next.

Kurt crumpled, folding into himself, shoulders slumping, his head falling into his upturned palms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Blaine took a few steps toward Kurt’s trembling frame. “Kurt what’s wro—“ He stopped. The question was pointless, for he could now see clearly what was wrong. Sitting on the coffee table, on top of a familiar, folded sheet of lined paper, was a small, glistening mahogany box. Blaine’s mouth dropped open, his eyes went wide with shock as the synapses in his brain fired rapidly, searching for a way to salvage this, to make this the moment he had planned. Smiling indulgently at Kurt, Blaine said, “Honey, it’s okay. “Umm,” he chuckled, “how…how did you…?”

Kurt whispered into his hands. “I was organizing the closet…trying to make space for some new things I picked up from the thrift store and…and one of your shoe boxes fell and it just…it just fell out.” His head snapped up and his eyes finally met Blaine’s. “I didn’t read it, I swear.”

Blaine slid onto the couch into the spot beside Kurt and gently placed his hand on the small of Kurt’s back, rubbing relaxing circles into the base of his spine. “It’s okay, Babe. I mean…I would have preferred it go differently, but…I was planning on doing it this weekend anyway.”

“I know.”

“What? How?” Blaine smiled, surprised, but mildly amused.

“Rachel.” Kurt again hid his face in his hands.  “I found it and I panicked and called her and she told me.”

“Well, I guess that’s fine…it’s not like this was ever going to be a  _surprise_  any—wait…you panicked?”

Kurt nodded.

Blaine’s hand stilled on Kurt’s back. “Kurt. Why did you bring the box out here?”

“I’m sorry, Blaine.” A breath. “We can’t.”

Blaine’s head shook imperceptibly as he collapsed, in slow motion, backward into the couch, thankful he was already seated and the distance from back to couch was mere inches. Kurt’s words settled over him in a thick blanket of confusion and building panic. He was suffocating, his mouth open, eyes wide, as he struggled to comprehend the meaning of Kurt’s words—desperate for a meaning that would mean his life still had one. Blaine ran his palms down his face and sucked in a shallow breath of air through his trembling fingers. “Kurt. What do you mean…‘we can’t?’”

Blaine’s voice was fragile, light, but the fear embedded within transmitted loud and clear, lifting Kurt’s head. Kurt’s hand darted to Blaine’s knee, “I mean we aren’t ready, Honey. We can’t…not right now.”

Blaine was silent, his face expectant. Kurt continued, his soft, explanatory tone rising through the tears. “We’re struggling just to pay the rent and utilities, not to mention our other bills. We can’t get married right now, Blaine.”

“None of that is going to change whether we are married or not. And we’re not that bad off, Kurt. You’re at the boutique all the time and I know things are still slow but it’s steady. We’re already living together, and we’re practically married, Kurt,” Blaine gave an exasperated scoff. “We have been for years.”

“And that’s why we don’t have to rush, Blaine. We can’t afford a wedding. Don’t you want to do this right? I don’t want to marry you at some Justice of the Peace and come back to this tiny apartment and watch you go off to work at that cocktail bar—“

“I seem to remember a time when you were ready to elope in Central Park…” Blaine said it because he was stung and knew it would sting.

“Don’t turn this into something it isn’t. Things were different then…”

“How were they different, Kurt? Because from where I’m sitting the only difference here is that I’m here with a ring but you’re not saying yes.” Blaine was no longer sitting. “And I can’t help but think the  _real_  difference is that you thought  _I’d_  be something different.” Somewhere inside the folds of his mind Blaine knew this wasn’t true, but he had also been sure Kurt would say yes—had always been sure Kurt would say yes—thought Kurt had  _already_  said yes. It was as though reality had been inverted and lies had been made of all of his previous truths. Blaine’s thoughts were swirling, spiraling, blurring and the only clear memories were of Kurt’s disdain at his waiter uniform, and Kurt’s inquiries about when he was going to spend more time in the studio, and Kurt scoffing and turning up his nose when Blaine came home smelling of cigarette smoke and the pungent odor of splattered alcohol and juice. It all led him to one painful, if irrational, conclusion. “You don’t want to marry a waiter, is that it? This isn’t what the fabulous Kurt Hummel signed up for? You don’t want to hitch your rising star to me because I’ll just drag you down?”

“No, Blaine. I don’t want to marry a waiter!” Kurt stood and Blaine’s knees buckled under the force of solidifying fear. “Because that’s not what you are, it’s not what you want, but I’m afraid that’s what you’d be if we got married now.” Kurt reached out and took Blaine by the shoulders, steadying him—steadying them both. “We’ll be too worried about providing for each other to take risks. I don’t want  _us_  to be the reason you decide to take another shift instead of spending more time in that studio. I don’t want us to be the reason those songs don’t get written. I’d miss them.” Kurt took Blaine’s face in the palm of his hand. “I’d miss  _you_.”

Blaine shut his eyes, leaned into Kurt’s warm hand, exhaled, and surrendered. “You’re the only reason my songs ever get written.”

Blaine never saw Kurt’s reaction but he felt it as Kurt surged forward, brought his other hand to Blaine’s tear stained cheek, and slammed their lips together. Kurt clung to Blaine’s bottom lip as though it was some long lost treasure, invaluable, thought to be forever lost and now found never again to be let out of his sight. Blaine, grateful for rediscovery, fell into the kiss the way reunited lovers fall into each other’s arms; hungry, hard, and thankful.

Hesitant to separate but desperate to speak, Kurt shifted his lips only the infinitesimal distance required to breathe, “I love you.”

“Then marry me,” Blaine pleaded into Kurt’s mouth.

“I want to.” The words were a burst of air seemingly forced out by the pressure of an honesty, of a want built by the frustration of the acknowledgement of the thirst Kurt would not allow himself to quench for reasons that now escaped his dry, dehydrated body as he teetered on the moist lips of Blaine’s well.

“Then do it.” Blaine pushed.

Kurt’s mind, strengthened by painful practice and ignoring by the needs of the flesh, clung to the edge of sanity and forced his body to say, “No, Blaine. Listen to me.” Kurt, panting slightly, touched his forehead to Blaine’s. “We are forever, you and me. We’re Kurt and Blaine, Blaine and Kurt. We’re  _it_. I don’t need a ring or a piece of paper to tell me that.” Kurt gestured pointedly to the objects on the coffee table and half smiled. “Besides, I already have a ring of paper to prove it.”

Blaine huffed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I want it. Badly. But I want it when it’s  _right_ , when we’re  _ready_ , when we can support ourselves, and  _yes_ ,” Kurt declared, pulling back an inch to look into Blaine’s sad eyes, “when we can afford to have all our friends and family there in a stunning venue, catered and impeccably decorated. And when I’m not afraid that my ring will get repossessed. I mean, the payments on that thing are going to have us homeless.” Kurt gently shook a smirk into Blaine.

“It’s paid for…trust fund…I wanted what would piss him off the most.” Blaine’s head was still bowed but his smile was spreading.

“Well, in that case, we’ll keep it,” Kurt proclaimed. “For when we’re ready.”

Blaine’s head lifted slightly, “’When’ not ‘if?’”

“It was always ‘when.’” At that, Blaine tugged and Kurt allowed himself to slide over the lips and into Blaine’s well where Blaine was waiting to quench his thirst.

Several minutes later, winded and decidedly hydrated, Blaine rolled onto his back and Kurt followed, resting his head on Blaine’s chest, and draping a leg over Blaine’s thighs, the rest of his body wedged between Blaine’s and the back of the couch. Kurt stroked at the buttons of Blaine’s polo with his thumb, before shifting to rest his chin on his hand. He looked up at Blaine whose eyes were closed. “Why now? Why this weekend?”

A beat. Then honestly, “Your mother.”

“What?”

“Mother’s Day…” Blaine opened his eyes and found Kurt’s. “I know it’s hard for you…especially this year since we can’t make the trip back to Ohio to visit her. I wanted it to be something positive for you—the day we decided to become a family.”

“Wow.”

Blaine tensed. “What?”

“I thought  _I_  was supposed to be the silly romantic.”

“I just want to do right by you, Kurt.”

“You do. Every day.”

Blaine released a contented sigh, combed his fingers into Kurt’s hair, and placed a chaste kiss to his temple. “What should we do with that old thing?” He tilted his head in the direction of the box on the coffee table. “Should I toss it back into a shoe box?”

“And have my engagement ring with your smelly shoes? I don’t think so. I know just the place!”

Before Blaine could formulate a verbal response, Kurt extricated himself (elbows and knees into Blaine’s chest) with surprising alacrity, scooped up the tiny ring box and folded scrap of paper, grabbed Blaine’s hand and dragged him bodily from the couch. Socked feet shuffling so fast they could create enough static electricity to power an entire city block, Kurt guided them deftly around shabby furniture and priceless antique store finds into their tiny bedroom.

When Kurt and Blaine began cohabitating, having abandoned the sanctity of dorm life for the pleasures of living in sin, they started fresh on the furniture front (though it wasn’t as if they had accumulated much coming from the shoddy medium density fiberboard structures and bright, white cinderblock walls of college).  The boys went thrifting for the big pieces, deciding to splurge on the little touches that would bring the rooms together, make their house (or apartment as it were) a home, finding rare gems in antique and thrift stores off the beaten path. Their little square of New York was eclectic and bright, with an old-school flare reminiscent of the days Blaine seemed to be plucked from and planted into the present. However, the oldest and most cherished piece had not been found in a dusty corner of a New York storefront. Burt, Carole, and Blaine’s mother, Camille, had offered to give the boys a few items of furniture—Blaine had flatly refused while Kurt had requested one and only one item be shipped from his old home to his new one.  It was to that piece—the cracked and quaint, oak dresser standing nobly in the corner—that Kurt now led them.

Atop the weathered oak surface sat two leather bound degrees, a collection of dried and preserved carnations from the last bouquet with which Kurt had surprised Blaine, and the framed, yellowing picture of the two at Kurt’s junior prom which had also made the trip from Ohio to New York.

Now, standing in front of the wooden heirloom, Kurt released Blaine’s hand and gently pulled open the top drawer—empty except for the soft scent of sweet magnolia and flowery clean. Kurt’s eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of her as it wrapped around him, his tummy flipping with the faint familiarity of experiences caught just between faded dream and distant memory. 

Kurt exhaled. “Hi, Mom.” Cradling the ring and paper in both hands, he flashed Blaine a shy smile. “Blaine wants me to have this…he wants us to be a family. I want it, but I would like you to hold onto it until we’re ready.”

“When, not if,” Blaine added.

“When, not if,” Kurt echoed. He kissed Blaine’s cheek and continued. “I’m pretty sure you were the first person that taught me what love is, and well, Blaine and I have that…love…and I know you would love him, and where ever you are I hope that you do—love him, that is—and know that I love you.” Kurt’s lashes kissed and a solitary tear slipped through and made the silent, solemn journey down his face. “I hope that’s enough of a Mother’s Day gift this year.”

“ _You’re_  enough,” Blaine whispered.

Kurt nodded gratefully, his mouth turning up at the corners. Then, he ever so gently placed the glistening, new mahogany box and the little scrap of paper into the confines of the worn, oak drawer–new love enveloped and protected by its oldest and perhaps most prolific form. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Blaine offered.

Kurt beamed tearfully at Blaine, interlaced their fingers, and gave Blaine’s hand a warm, gentle, encouraging squeeze.

“Mom,” Blaine whispered.

They stood like that, silent and still, until the scent of magnolia and clean slipped away along with the feel of her presence—her warmth and their smiles remained. Kurt tugged lightly at Blaine’s hand and led them leisurely back into the living room and onto the couch where Blaine finally got his cuddles.

***

** Sunday, February 2, 2020 (Past: Almost two years later) **

Seated across from Kurt at the Ikea pinewood table that doubled as their eating space and Kurt’s corner for sketching and sewing patterns, Blaine knew something was up. Not because Kurt had prepared a delicious meal of poached salmon, drizzled in dill sauce, and expertly served over a bed of almond rice and grilled asparagus. It was incredible what Kurt could manage in the box they called a kitchen. Blaine would often return home after a late night in the studio to Kurt lifting the loop of his apron over his neck, brushing his hands together in the motion customary of one who has just successfully completed a task, and turning joy-eyed to Blaine in the doorway and announcing, “Oh good! You’re home. Just in time for dinner. I’m starved!”

The flickering candles and lilting background music were also not out of the ordinary; Kurt, after all, was a romantic at heart, always finding some reason to play “their song” and sway in each other’s arms, reminiscing about the years they’d spent together and making plans for the ones to come.  Each day, Blaine could count on some tiny trinket of love, be it sheet music Kurt had found at the local music store to that one song Blaine had mentioned his love for in passing, or a small flower Kurt found during a stroll through Central Park hoping to find inspiration, or a little note of love, apology for peeking, and encouragement to keep going tucked into Blaine’s song book. Kurt’s love was in the details, crafted and displayed in the mundane gestures of affection that added day-to-day made theirs not an everyday kind of love.

They were lucky that way, Kurt and Blaine. Lucky in love. But now, slowly spooning the succulent salmon into his mouth, Blaine could see there was more than love in Kurt’s eyes, something anticipatory, a barely controlled, almost frantic excitement. Kurt’s cheeks were already pinking from the wine, but he reached for the bottle once more to fill his already twice drained glass.

“Uh oh, the wine’s all gone.”

“Looks like it,” Blaine teased.

“Would you mind running into the kitchen and grabbing another bottle. I set one out already.”

“So, it’s going to be that kind of night? I see.” Blaine teasingly wiggled his eyebrows at Kurt’s embarrassed grin and he pushed back from the table/desk and headed toward the kitchen. “You should let me have a little more this time otherwise you—“ The thought died in his mouth as his optic nerves carried signals from his retina to his brain which had no trouble identifying the two ring boxes on either side of the wine bottle which occupied the inch of counter space but was momentarily short circuiting in attempt to interpret the meaning.

“How about October?” Blaine could hear Kurt’s smile. “I’m thinking fall colors. And no, we can’t have a Halloween theme.” His giggle was weightless with joy.

Blaine turned to see Kurt leaned against the door frame, his face wide and alive with the completely uninhibited smile he only wore for Blaine. Blaine’s jaw was slack, eyes comically wide , and  he blinked rapidly, probably some autonomic biological response meant to inhibit incoming sensory information so as to allow the brain time to catch up to and reaffirm its grip on reality. Whatever the reason, Blaine had put two and two together.

“Rings?”

Kurt nodded.

“Is this?”

Kurt nodded.

“Are we…?”

“Getting married?” Kurt chuckled. “I hope so. Is this,” he gestured lovingly toward Blaine, “a yes?”

Blaine answered with all of himself, rushing to Kurt, lifting him bodily onto the stove (the only remaining “counter space”) and poured his answer into Kurt’s smile. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Kurt answered back in kind, his answer a heady moan as they pawed desperately at each other, Kurt’s legs splayed, Blaine rutted up against him, ignoring the discomfort of the jabbing knobs of the stove. 

“Mmm, hot.” Kurt whimpered, pushing forward into Blaine.

“So hot.” Blaine echoed mindlessly as he began mouthing at Kurt’s jaw, his fingers playing at the hem of Kurt’s long-sleeved Henley.

“Wait. My ass.” Kurt was keening, his hands slapping desperately at Blaine’s shoulders.  Blaine immediately began to obey, slipping his hands around Kurt’s waist toward the destination Kurt demanded.

“No! My ASS! I AM BURNING!”

That’s how Kurt came to be face down, bare ass up, on the couch in the first minutes of their engagement. Blaine had hoped they would end up in this position, just not under these circumstances. It was immediately decided they would need a bigger place, one with ample counter space, and once the stinging lessened enough to allow movement, Blaine settled onto the couch on his back beneath a prone Kurt, so that they were chest to chest, Blaine holding the ice pack to Kurt’s singed bottom.

“I’m sorry, Babe,” Blaine muttered into Kurt’s hair. “You obviously put a lot of planning into this and I go and ruin it with my insatiable desire for you. I didn’t mean to actually, you know,  _cook_ you.”

Kurt’s laughter shook them both. “If there are better ways to burn off an ass cheek, I can’t think of one.”

Kurt lifted his head, planted his chin on Blaine’s chest and strained just enough to brush a kiss to Blaine’s chin. Blaine gazed down at him and unable to contain the love in his eyes let it escape his lips. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

They lay content in the silence for what could have been minutes, hours, seconds--love knows not of the banalities of time. Then, Blaine spoke. “Why now?”

“Why now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…it’s Groundhog’s Day.”

Blaine’s chest vibrated with the humor. “Kurt, you’re not making any sense.”

“Well, Groundhog’s Day is significant for two reasons,” Kurt began, his cool breath tickling the underside of Blaine’s chin. “1) It’s Groundhog’s Day, 2020. February 2, 2020.” Blaine showed no sign of dawning understanding. Kurt continued. “Zero-two-zero-two-two-zero-two-zero. See the pattern?” Blaine’s head shifted slightly, up then down. “No matter which way you look at it, forwards or backwards, it’ll always be the two of us together, forever.” Kurt paused to take in Blaine’s spreading grin. “I’m a sap for numbers.”

“I know.”

“You love it.” The corners of Kurt’s eyes crinkled.

“I do.”

“2) Remember about three months ago on our Old Movie Night when we watched the movie with Bill Murray and I cried?”

“Of course.” Blaine remembered all right. He’d spent the thirty minutes after the movie trying to get Kurt to explain why he was crying. Yes, it was a cute love story, if not a bit repetitive, but not worthy of the water works display Kurt usually reserved only for the most emotional of musical reprises.

“Well, it made me realize that…so many people go through life getting it wrong. Messing up. Having to start over again and again, beginning as friends, learning each other’s secrets, becoming lovers, but always inevitably messing up and starting again with someone new. But we were lucky enough to get it right the first time.” Kurt pressed his body into Blaine’s and turned his head to the side, rubbing his cheek on Blaine’s chest.  “So, what better day to promise to live this and all other lives with you, deepening our friendship, learning all of your secrets, creating more secrets, making each other better each day we wake up to each other as long as time allows?”

“You win.”

“What?”

“You  _are_  the romantic.”

They laughed.

Blaine let the bag of melted ice slip from his hand and onto the floor and he wrapped his arms around Kurt. “Feels so good to finally be here,” he whispered dreamily, Kurt’s weight warm and heavy on his body.

“Where?”

“When.” It wasn’t a question. Kurt understood.

“Welcome to When,” Kurt whispered.

“Welcome to When.”

 

***

** Friday, March 21, 2031 (Past: 2 months ago) **

The fashion show introducing the Legend Line, by all accounts, had been a success. No one fell, the audience ooh-ed and ahh-ed at all the right moments, and Kurt positively shined. Blaine had sat on the front row grinning like a Cheshire cat with Bertie bouncing in his lap and Tori’s legs swinging energetically from the seat between he and Rachel. Blaine couldn’t wait to read through the inevitably glowing reviews in the coming days and share the best blurbs and exaltations with Kurt over breakfast – their post Anderson-Hummel premier tradition. They would only read reviews about the other (They never read their own reviews, “One should never read about oneself,” Kurt advised. Plus, it was the only way to maintain the proper answer to the predictable interview question of what they made of the critics – “Oh, I never read reviews.”). Whenever they came across something negative—some ignorant critic claiming Blaine’s newest single lacked lyrical depth or some blind recluse arguing Kurt’s newest creation lacked inspiration and creativity—they would simply toss it out, unless it had some shred of merit, in which case they would rephrase it and offer it as constructive criticism, believing hard truths were easier to digest when gently fed by the hand of a lover. This time, however, Blaine was certain that anyone who knew enough about fashion to be writing about it would love the Legend Line – it was just  _so_  Kurt, and how could anyone not love Kurt?

Now, at the after party, Blaine watched as everyone actively loved Kurt, vied for his attention, clamored for a moment to talk, rub elbows, make an impression. Blaine enjoyed watching Kurt work, watching people fawn over Kurt, see and appreciate the things in Kurt that he saw and adored. At Kurt’s events (just as Kurt did at Blaine’s), Blaine would hang back, Bertie on his hip, Tori’s hand in his, making small talk with the guests, catching Kurt’s eye on occasion, at which point Blaine’s eyes would glow and his face would tilt ever so slightly into the expression of love that had now become a reflex whenever his eyes fell upon Kurt. They always made a point, no matter how hectic the throng of well-wishers and press became, to pivot out of conversations and check in with one another, sort of like coming up for air before re-submerging. But on this night, Kurt did not check in, did not come to the surface, seemingly content to swim laps around the pool, soaking in the accolades, while Blaine, Bertie and Tori stood in the shade.

In fact, the more Blaine stood, the more he mindlessly yet charmingly chatted, flitting in and out of conversation in search of an absent Kurt, the more he waited in the wings sought out by exiting guests including a prancing Rachel (“I must rest my voice for tomorrow’s matinee. Give Kurt my love.”), the more it became clear that Kurt was throwing light on everyone except him.  Then, just as Blaine acquiesced to Bertie’s request of “Down, please, Daddy,” another man stepped into Kurt’s spotlight.

He was tall, handsome, and vaguely familiar. Blaine couldn’t place his name, but was sure he had met him before. Then again, these events were always clogged with people he had met before.  However, even from this distance, Blaine could tell that Kurt was certainly familiar with the man—something in Kurt’s posture changed and the space between them was too small to be shared by strangers.  Kurt and the man’s words were drowned out by the music and the giggles that always erupted from Tori and Bertie during a rendition of their potato dance, but Kurt’s face messaged an unease that settled heavily in Blaine’s chest.   

“Hey there, Blaine.”

“Oh, hi, Tiffany,” Blaine gave back, not diverting his eyes from Kurt, relying instead on his ears to accurately identify his newest companion, Kurt’s diligent assistant and long time friend. “How are you?”

“Usually, because these events require optimistic dishonesty, I would say, ‘Great!’ But since it’s you, and you also look like someone pooped on your Pop-tart, I’ll be honest and say ‘relieved.’”

Blaine finally looked at Tiffany, offering a concerned half smile. “No one ‘pooped on my Pop-tart.’ I’m just a little fatigued that’s all.” Blaine’s own brand of optimistic dishonesty. “Have I ever told you how much I love your way with words?”

“Hmm…perhaps, but I could stand some reminding.”

Blaine pivoted toward Tiffany, sure to keep Kurt in his periphery. “Well, I do. Now tell me about this relief you speak of.”

“Oh, I don’t know…it’s just this Line has been particularly hectic and stressful. And trying to manage everyone…” Tiffany sighed. “…and _Kurt_.  I love him but you know how he gets.”

“I know. Workaholic. We’ll be glad to have him back home; he’s been keeping late nights at the office.” Blaine glanced at Kurt who was still locked in conversation with the man whose name escaped him.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s been working late.”

“No he hasn’t…” Tiffany’s voice trailed off and her eyes darted toward Kurt and the man he was still speaking to.

Blaine followed her line of sight. His brow furrowed. “I don’t know what kind of hours you’re used to, Tiffany, but not leaving the office until after ten or eleven qualifies as late. One night he wasn’t home until after midnight.”

“Oh…well…then…” Tiffany’s voice was suddenly layered: tentative, flustered, angry, panicked. If her face showed any emotion, Blaine didn’t see, too busy noticing that the intensity of Kurt’s conversation had obviously increased in the past minute.  What  _were_  they talking about?

 “I always tell Kurt to go home…I guess he hasn’t been listening,” Tiffany offered with a heavy sigh. “It should be over now…thankfully. This whole thing has been more stress than it’s worth.”

Blaine nodded his head in Kurt’s direction. “Seems like it still is. Who is that guy anyway? The guy Kurt’s talking to? I’m sure I’ve met him before, but I can’t think of his name.”

“Don’t worry about him, Blaine.” Tiffany caressed his arm. “He’s nobody, and he’ll be gone soon enough now that this Line is finally over. Speaking of gone,” she lifted onto her tippy toes and kissed Blaine on the cheek. “’Tis late. My cat will wonder where I’ve gone. I must be off.” Tiffany turned to go, but not before ruffling Tori and Bertie’s dancing heads. 

Blaine watched her leave, feeling sure the pseudo-stranger’s impending departure was a large part of her relief. What he saw when he turned back to Kurt assured it would do the same for him. He could no longer see the stranger’s face as it was hidden on the other side of Kurt’s, which was now contorted in a way Blaine had never before seen and could not interpret. The man was leaned into Kurt, mere inches between them now, his hand firm on Kurt’s arm. Blaine had taken three steps—deciding to make himself a part of the conversation—when Kurt suddenly turned out of the man’s grip and strode toward Blaine, who met him halfway.

Blaine caught Kurt’s arm. “Kurt?”

Kurt did not stop. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. Are you ready?”

“Yes, umm, is everything okay?” Blaine tried to read Kurt’s face, which had somehow become expressionless.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? That guy—“

“He’s nobody.” The more Blaine heard this, the less he believed it. He started to press further, but just then, they reached Tori and Bertie. “Hey there, are you all tired of bopping around yet?” Kurt’s strained smile and falsely cheery tone were warning for Blaine but a welcome to the kids.

“Papa! Dance with us!” Tori hitched her elbows in close to her side and wiggled her bottom furiously.

Kurt chuckled and his eyes crinkled in a way that almost seemed genuine. “Maybe later, Sweet Heart. We have a train to catch. It’s already way past your bedtime.”

“Aww, Papa, don’t poop on my Pop-tart,” Tori huffed.

“Tut tut tut, Missy,” Blaine admonished, taking her hand.  “You’ve been listening to Auntie Tiffany a little too much. That’s not a nice thing to say, especially to Papa.”

“Sorry, Papa.” She scrunched her face in apology as Kurt tapped her nose endearingly, as he bent down to lift Bertie.

“Apology accepted. I’m just glad you had fun. Did you have fun, Bertie?”

“A lot of fun, Papa!” Bertie bellowed.

“Well, good,” Kurt said, bouncing Bertie on his hip. “Let’s get you two home.”

“I’ll grab our coats and hail us a cab.” Blaine handed off Tori’s hand to Kurt’s and made to go, but not before Kurt called out, “Blaine?” 

Blaine turned. There was something sad in Kurt’s eyes. “Thank you…for waiting.”

“Of course.”

Blaine was only made to wait a few hours before Kurt reminded him of the stranger’s name.

***

** Monday, June 2, 2031 (Present: two months later) **

“Blaine?”

No response.

“Blaine!”

Blaine blinked and his eyes refocused as he mentally returned to his lawyer’s office. “Sorry…I was just thinking.”

“Understandable.” Colin Wright was an older, dignified gentleman with gray hair, salt and pepper beard, and thick rimmed, serious glasses. He had been a friend and confidant of the Anderson family for many years: a confidant due to his legal skills, and a friend because of his honesty and empathy—rare qualities in general but especially in lawyers.

Blaine lowered his head into his upturned hands, hovering inches above the stack of papers that marked the end of waiting and the beginning of action.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You and Kurt…”

“I’m sure I  _don’t_  want to do this.” Blaine’s defeated voice escaped him in whispers. “But it’s no longer up to me. I’ve been waiting for Kurt my whole life and…and…I can’t wait anymore…knowing he may never come.”

Silence.

“Have you talked to him?” Mr. Wright offered.

“I’ve tried but every time he calls it’s like he doesn’t even think anything is wrong. No apology for Bri—for  _him_. No explanation. Just asking for what he needs and expecting me to deliver like nothing’s changed. It’s like…like it doesn’t even matter that I’m gone.”

Mr. Wright allowed Blaine a moment of tearful grief. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

“Me too.” Blaine ran his hands down his face, took a deep breath, and then, with all the strength afforded to him by his last shreds of dignity, straightened to his full height. “How long…how long does he have to sign the papers before…?”

“Twenty days.”

“Then what happens?”

“Let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it.”

“When not if…” Blaine muttered, the memory crashing over him once more.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Blaine shook his head. “Twenty days. I…I can wait that long.” He was as unsure as he sounded.

“So, you want me to send the papers?” Mr. Wright’s voice was soft and low.

Blaine nodded. If he had opened his mouth the sob building in his throat over the past months would have escaped. He rose unsteadily to his feet and reflexively shook Mr. Wright’s outstretched hand.

“I’ll let you know when he receives the papers. It should be some time later this week.”

Blaine nodded his thanks and left. Now, he would wait—wait for the end of he and Kurt’s When.


	13. Tree House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins two weeks after the end of chapter twelve.

  
**Friday, June 13, 2031 (Present: nearly two weeks later)**

 

“Hurry, Sweetie! I have to get you all home in time for family dinner.”

It was nearing 4 o’clock and Blaine was rushing. Bertie had finally consented to sitting on the potty and for a while that’s all he had done—sit, which was a problem because they needed to go, but Bertie needed “to go” as well…Blaine and Tori just wished he would go already. Unfortunately, they were powerless in the battle against Bertie’s digestive system because the parenting handbook mandated giving Bertie as much time as he needed. Plus, when the alternating visits started, Bertie had regressed a bit in the potty training department, and Blaine, feeling guilty already, didn't want to cause any more disruptions or have to hear Kurt’s lamentations about how rushing Bertie would “give him a complex." He and Kurt’s limited conversations, if they could even be called that, over the last week had already turned to shit, they didn’t need to literally be about shit. Ironically enough, when Bertie finally went, it had indeed been of the secondary variety, which would have been a welcomed new development, if not for the fact that disposing of said development becomes an extra, more time consuming process when dealing with solids and not liquids. However, after spending what Blaine was sure was an inordinate amount of time attending to his son’s bowel movement, they were just about ready to go.

Blaine stood at the door, with Bertie snug on his hip, and the bag of pull-ups, sippy cups, and footie-pajamas all packed and clutched in his free hand, not so patiently waiting on his daughter to emerge from the bedroom. 

“Seriously, Tor, if we miss this cab, we’ll miss the train,” Blaine gently reminded.

“Okay, Daddy! I’m just updating your calendar!” Tori called, finally rounding the corner and entering the foyer.

“And just what were you adding?”

“When we’ll visit you next. Don’t want you to forget.”

“I could never forget that, sweetie,” Blaine assured her as he turned to open the door. “Oh, do you mind grabbing that bag for Daddy?” He gestured to a small duffle bag off to the side.

“Sure—ooh, it’s heavy! What’s in it?” Tori asked, grabbing the bag with both hands.

“Nothing. Just a few things Daddy needs.”

“Are you going somewhere special, like us?”

Blaine gave a sad smile. “You could say that. Come on, the cab is waiting.”

 

~

 

Sitting on the train to Manhasset, Blaine took the opportunity to brush Tori’s curls into manageable pigtails.  She sat smiling beside him, Bertie bouncing in her lap, making him giggle at her occasional tickle.

“Daddy, what’s Dalton?” Tori suddenly asked, as though she had plucked it haphazardly from a never-ending swirl of questions in her mind.

Blaine stilled the brush. “It’s a school I went to for a while. How do you…why do you ask?”

“I saw it on the calendar.” Tori answered, nonchalantly. Then, more cautiously, “I thought it was a hospital.”

Blaine chuckled. “What made you think it was a hospital?”

“Dollton hopitle!” Bertie blurted before giving into the giggles of a sudden onslaught of sisterly tickles.

“I heard Papa talking about it,” Tori explained, her eyes focused on Bertie.

Blaine resumed brushing. “Oh, yeah, well…it’s just a school I went to.”

“Did Papa go there too?” Her inquisitive air was back.

“For a little while. That’s actually where we met.”

“Oh! So  _that’s_  the place with the staircase?!”

“Yes. That’s the place with the staircase.” Blaine absently secured Tori’s final hair tie and pulled her and Bertie into the crook of his arm, his body secure in the moment but his mind twenty years in the past. When he had turned and first laid eyes on Kurt, he had imagined a future much like this—his two children at his side, traveling to see their Papa in the home they had made together. And even though it was ending, he was sure if given the chance, knowing the outcome, he’d do it all again.

Kurt was his fate, his story, and even though Kurt was forcing his hand to write a premature ending, Blaine’s desire to reopen the book would never be erased. For although it may end in heartbreak, it would be worth starting again from the beginning and for a moment, happily live, even if it could not be ever after.

~

 

The ride from the train station was short and Kurt was already waiting in the doorway when they pulled into the drive.  Blaine gave a curt nod in response to Kurt’s stilted wave as he exited the vehicle and made to retrieve Bertie from his car seat.

“I’ve got our bags, Daddy,” Tori called before pushing the car door shut with her little hip and rushing to the front door, dropping the purple bags, and hugging her Papa. She usually waited and carried Bertie with her, which allowed Blaine to wave his goodbyes from the car, but this time she had apparently forgotten her brother in her rush to see Kurt. Blaine found this highly inconvenient but understandable – he wanted desperately to do the same—go to Kurt and take him in his arms—hopefully with practice, that part of him would learn to go without.  However, it seemed today, while lucky, that part of him would have to hold back.

Blaine walked deliberately toward the doorway and Kurt, doing his best to keep his eyes on the ground or on Bertie, anywhere but Kurt’s stunning and demanding blue eyes. Reaching the doorway, Bertie practically leapt into Kurt’s arms, eliciting a chuckle from both Kurt and Blaine. Blaine playfully ruffled Bertie’s dirty blonde mane and offered Kurt a chaste smile.  After a tight squeeze and kiss on the cheek, Kurt lowered Bertie and gave his Pampered bottom a loving pat and sent him toddling into the living room to find his sister.

“How’s he doing with the potty?” Kurt asked, his voice heavy with pretense. 

Blaine tried to match Kurt’s falsely casual tone. “He does great, once you convince him to actually sit on it. Sometimes he’s a bit slow, but—“

“Be sure not to rush him!” Kurt interrupted.

“—I’m sure not to rush him,” Blaine continued over Kurt.

Kurt darted his eyes to the side and shifted his head in what he probably meant to be a nod. “Good.”

Kurt shuffled his feet and Blaine shifted his stance.

“Did they tell you we’re going to Ohio tomorrow? For the week?” Kurt continued. His tone made it obvious that this wasn’t really what he wanted to talk about but Blaine sensed it was closer than Bertie’s poop.

“Yes.”

“It’s Father’s Day weekend and well…Carole…” Kurt trailed off.

“I know.”

Kurt looked guiltily through his lashes. “You don’t mind?”

“I’ll miss you all, but I understand.” It was honest. Blaine hoped an offering of honesty would draw out the same from Kurt.

“You’ll miss us?” Kurt asked, confused shock flashing on his features.

The question stung.  Blaine wanted to yell that he missed them every day, every minute, even in moments like these when they were so near. He wanted to explain how he felt he no longer shared the space Kurt, Tori, and Bertie called family, standing here on his own porch feeling like an outsider. He needed to say there was constantly and soon, he feared, would permanently be that crushing distance filling the fleeting moments they shared making him always aware of the impending and inevitable moment when they would retreat back into their shared space and leave him alone again, missing them, like he always did. But he settled for, “Of course.”

Kurt seemed to sense the emotional impact of his question, averted his eyes, and tried again. “Are you planning on visiting your father? Maybe the kids could see your parents?”

“No, Kurt, I’m not and—I can’t do this.” Blaine dropped his hands to his side, exhausted from the charade. Blaine was done with this chapter. He needed the next page, the epilogue, he would settle for a bit of foreshadowing so he could know what was next, or at least what to expect. “I can’t stand here in our doorway dancing around the issue, pretending everything is okay. Did you…did you get the…the…?”

Kurt’s arms crossed and his voice was surprisingly cold. “Yes. Blaine. I got them.”

Blaine ran a hand over his hair. Kurt squared his jaw. They stood in the descending silence while Blaine waited in vain for Kurt to tell him how their story would end. After a moment, Blaine prodded, “And?”

“And?!” Kurt reared back, indignant. “We’re together for nearly 20 years and you send divorce papers in the  _mail—_ in the _mail_ , Blaine—after refusing to talk to me—“

“I didn’t refuse to talk to you,” Blaine cut in. “I wanted to talk but you never had anything to say!”

“Well, I certainly don’t have anything to say to you on our _doorstep_  since you’ve made it pretty damn clear with your papers what you want!”

“It’s not wha—you know what? Fine, Kurt. You win. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? You win.” Blaine threw up his hands, turned to hide his welling tears, walked to his car, and drove away leaving Kurt silent and defeated on the threshold of what used to be their home.

As he backed out of the driveway, Blaine tortured his mind for an explanation of how they had reached this point: how Kurt could talk about potty training and a separated Father’s Day, but when Blaine tried to talk— _really_  talk—to save them if he could, Kurt would turn and run, scared and angry.  If even in the face of impending divorce, Kurt could not, would not express the desire to be with him, or at least the preference of staying with him and preserving the family--the life--they had built and at try to see this story through to an ending they could both accept, Blaine wasn’t sure why  _he_  should keep trying.

Blaine was merely two blocks away when his tear-obscured vision forced him into what had become his customary parking spot. He killed the engine, dropped his head to the steering wheel, and closed the book on he and Kurt.

 

~

 

Kurt wasn’t sure how long he had stood in the doorway or how he had come to be standing in the kitchen, his body apparently preparing Friday Night Dinner without the assistance of his conscious mind, but the tug on his apron jerking him into reality convinced him that was indeed the case and that he wasn’t alone.

“Papa, whatsa matter?” It was Bertie, his plump face and round eyes staring up at him.

“I miss Daddy,” Kurt sniffed, too out of it to lie.

Bertie’s little face scrunched and he titled his head to the side. “He here.”

“I wish he was,” Kurt mused, turning back to the stove and attempting to commit his mind to the task at hand, when again, came the tug at his apron.

“It’s Friday,” Bertie declared as if this answered and solved everything.

“Yes…” Kurt trailed off, waiting, hoping Bertie would elaborate.

“So, Daddy here.” Bertie smiled as though he had presented an iron clad, logically infallible argument. Kurt sighed and returned the smile, unable to not find his son’s obvious confusion adorable. He carded his fingers through Bertie’s already thick locks and trying to keep his voice steady, whispered, “I want him to be.”

 

~

 

Kurt spent dinner absently nodding and uh-huh-ing while he stared at the empty seat across the table, the sickening reality that it would never again be filled by Blaine churning his empty stomach.

“Papa, you didn’t clean your plate,” Tori commented as she helped with the dishes.

“I know, but Papa isn’t very hungry.”

“Oh no! Do you feel sick?” Tori asked, concern distorting her soft features.

Kurt gave a weak smile. “Papa will be okay, Sweet Pea.”

“If you want, we can sleep in the big bed with you,” Tori offered, her brown eyes going big and bright. “That always makes Daddy feel better when he doesn’t feel good.”

“I would like that, Sweet Pea. I would like that a lot.”

 

~

 

After the dishes were done and bags were packed and repacked for the next day’s journey, the slumber party commenced. Tori was clad in her purple monogrammed pajamas, Kurt was wearing his matching blue silk pair, and Bertie was in his pastel green, cotton, footie-pajamas (also monogrammed), snuggled up in Kurt and Blaine’s bed. The festivities had started with a bowl of popcorn and  _The Little Mermaid_ —Tori was passionate about vintage Disney—but eventually Bertie lost his battle with sleep and the popcorn succumbed to Kurt’s restored appetite (Tori was right, this  _had_  made him feel better), and Tori slipped beneath the covers and into the crook of her Papa’s arm.

“Bertie is silly, Papa,” Tori announced. Bertie was sprawled across Kurt’s lap, his mouth lolled open in sleep, a clear line of slobber seeping onto the duvet.

Kurt giggled and gently scratched Tori’s scalp, loosening her pigtails. “Yes, he  _is_  pretty silly, isn’t he?”

“Bertie is a silly name,” Tori stated, as if it were just a common observation.

“Well, that’s just his nickname,” Kurt chuckled. “His name is Bert.”

Tori’s mouth opened in understanding. “Like Grandpa?”

“Like Grandpa.” Kurt looked down at her. “Do you remember Grandpa?”

Tori nodded. “I miss him,” she admitted, curling into her Papa.

Kurt pulled her in close to comfort them both. “Me too, Sweet Pea.”

“That was the worst day.”

 

***

 

**Sunday, July 30, 2028 (Past: three years earlier)**

Blaine had lost track of Kurt in the crowd of mourners that had descended upon the house. He had allowed himself to believe that Kurt was just somewhere with Finn or Carole or possibly tending to Tori. But the crowd around Carole had eventually thinned to reveal she and Tori tucked into the corner of the couch, their eyes empty and unseeing, pressed together so close it was unclear who was holding whom.

Blaine found Finn slumped over the kitchen counter, Rachel quietly crying and rubbing circles into his back, smiling and nodding at guests, accepting their condolences because Finn wasn’t able. Seeing them this way, Blaine was reminded that even though Rachel was demanding, ambitious, and certainly self-centered, she was also selfless, loving, and incredibly strong.  It had been she that had whispered worriedly in his ear that someone should find Kurt. She couldn’t have known that the kitchen was already his third stop in his ongoing search for Kurt, but the resulting look on his face let her know that her question had finally forced him to acknowledge the panic building in his gut.

“I’m sure he’s fine…just…” Rachel tried, using her free hand to brush his shoulder. “He has to be around here somewhere.” He nodded but didn’t even try for a smile—Rachel knew him well enough to know it wouldn’t be real, and he knew she loved him enough to not need to be fooled.

Blaine knew in his heart where Kurt was. He had known the minute he looked up and his eyes hadn’t immediately found Kurt’s in the crowd, but denial and fear forced him to search Kurt’s old room and even Carole and Burt’s bedroom before he finally went made his way to the hallway and pulled down the attic stairs.  

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine gasped as Kurt’s prone form came into view. Panicked, Blaine hoisted himself up the rickety ladder and rushed, broken, to Kurt’s side.

Kurt was on the dusty, creaking floor, still in his suit and tie, laying by a chest of drawers, the top drawer open, filling the dusty room with the scent of magnolia, all silent but for his sobs. Blaine dropped to his knees behind Kurt’s trembling frame, placed one hand on Kurt’s hip, and let the other smooth his hair. “Kurt, Babe, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here.”

“He’s gone!” Kurt wailed. “She’s gone, they’re gone, all gone, all gone.” It was all he could say.

Despite his suit and the dust, Blaine lay down behind Kurt and pulled Kurt’s curved back to his chest, holding him. They cried together, for what was, for what was lost, for what would no longer be.

Minutes, hours, days later, it seemed, Kurt lay mostly silent in Blaine’s arms. Then, “Tori. Where’s Tori?” Suddenly, Kurt was frantic again, trying to get his grief-limp limbs to lift his body from the floor.

“Shh, shh,” Blaine whispered, gently squeezing Kurt. “She’s okay, she’s with Carole.”

“Carole!” Kurt’s struggling began anew. “I have to go to her. She needs me.”

“No, Kurt, baby, no, not like this,” Blaine breathed into Kurt’s ear. “She’ll be fine, we’ll be fine…you’ll be fine.”

“How?” Kurt’s voice broke as he collapsed back to the floor. “How…he al-always ma-made everything okay, Blaine. He made m-me know  _I_  was okay.”

“You  _are_  okay, Kurt.” Blaine tried, but Kurt was again inconsolable.

“I can’t go on without him, Blaine! He’s my  _dad_! I’m his  _son_! What am I supposed to do?”

“Make him proud,” Blaine declared, his voice stronger than he felt, his arms still firmly and lovingly around Kurt. “You’re a successful designer. You’re an amazing husband.  You’re an incredible father. You make him proud, Kurt.”

“I’ll never be the father he was.” Kurt’s fear escaped through the cracks of grief hanging heavy above them in the dank air.

Blaine spoke to both their fears. “We can try. We  _have_  to try.”

Somehow the tension seeped from Kurt’s body and determination mingled with the sadness in his bones. He rolled in Blaine’s arms, his watery blue eyes meeting Blaine’s. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but sure. “Can we have a little boy?”

Suddenly, Blaine was doing something he would have thought impossible of the moment—laughing.  Kurt was still there, beneath the current layers of despair and loss—Kurt was still there. Kurt locked his arms around Blaine and the two lovers vibrated against each other in laughter and tears and somewhere in it all, Blaine managed two words: “Of course.”

 

***

 

Kurt’s eyes grew misty with memory as he held Tori close.

“I always thought that was the worst day,” Tori muttered into Kurt’s torso.

Kurt’s breath caught in his throat. “Is there…is there a _worse_  day, Sweet Pea?”

She nodded. “The day Daddy left.”

 

***

 

**Thursday, June 12, 2031 (Present: the previous night)**

 

Another call with Kurt had proven fruitless (a meaningless inquiry into Bertie’s potty training progress), and Blaine had been unable to hide his poor mood. As a remedy, Tori, of course, had suggested Daddy-Daughter Cuddles. With Bertie drooling on his nearby, recently purchased, Ikea pullout, Tori climbed into bed and nuzzled against her Daddy. Usually, Tori would regale Blaine with her elementary school exploits or recount the tales of her newest favorite character from her newest favorite book, but on that night, Tori had questions.

“Daddy, where do you go when you leave us?” It wasn’t an accusation. It was a question asked with all the innocence of a child, but it hurt just the same.

“I’ve never left you. I’ll never leave you.” Blaine lifted her chin and lowered his so that their eyes met. “Daddy is here. Daddy is always here.”

She blinked. “Are you going to leave Papa?”

“I don’t want to,” Blaine gave.

“He doesn’t want you to go.” Tori dropped her head as though she had revealed a secret.

“Oh?” Blaine tried for playful. “And how do you know that?” He tapped her on the nose and gave her a smile to let her know this was okay.

“I can tell,” she confessed. “Papa used to be happy. And now he’s sad.” Tori paused, and looked into her Daddy’s eyes before resting her cheek against his chest. “You make him happy.”

Blaine slouched against the headboard. “He makes me happy too.” Blaine felt Tori’s intake of breath and tried to ready himself for what would come next.

“Do you miss us?” Her eyes were large, expectant, and fearful.

“Every day, Sweetie.” Blaine pulled her in as close as he could. “Every day.”

“What do you miss the most,” she paused, “about Papa?”

“Oh, Tori…I don’t know if I should…”

“Please, Daddy?” she implored.

Blaine closed his eyes, sighed, and let the truth trickle out. “I miss the way the corners of his mouth crinkle when he smiles and the happy pitch of his voice when he’s excited.” He couldn’t stop the corner of his own mouth from lifting at the memory. “I miss how the sound of his nightly skin sloughing routine distracts me from my reading. I miss how he always pretends to be upset when he interrupts our messy kitchen parties. I miss the way he would kiss us awake. I even miss fighting. I miss making up. But mostly, I miss hearing the words ‘I love you’ in his voice.” Blaine’s voice faltered.  “I just…I miss us. I miss our family. I miss my husband.”

Tori’s eyes were downcast and Blaine took advantage of her courtesy and wiped his eyes. 

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Love?”

“Will you tell me a story?”

“Of course.” Blaine shifted onto his side, resting Tori’s head on his outstretched arm. “What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me the story of how you and Papa met.”

 

~

 

“Oh, Sweet Pea, I’d love to, but it’s a long story and we have to be up early to catch our plane tomorrow,” Kurt explained.

“I know, Papa. But I want to hear it. Please? Then I’ll go to sleep, I promise,” Tori pleaded.

“You promise?” Kurt asked. She nodded vigorously, her loose pigtails flopping adorably. “Okay.”  Kurt shifted the sleeping Bertie off his lap and into the space between he and Tori. They pulled the covers up just below their chins, and Kurt began. “Well…where to start? Hmm…okay, umm Sectionals were coming up and Papa’s glee club had some new competition. We were working on a number when a friend—Uncle Puck. You remember him don’t you Sweet Pea? He was in Uncle Finn’s wedding.”

“The one with the silly hair?”

Kurt laughed. “Yes, honey, The One With the Silly Hair. Well, he suggested I go spy on the other team.”

“Spying is wrong, Papa,” Tori explained with all the matter-of-factness her seven years afforded.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Kurt agreed.

“But it was okay this time?”

“Yes. But just this time.”

 

~

 

“I was on my way to practice with the Warblers.”

“The Warblers were like rock stars, weren’t they, Daddy?” Tori interrupted in excitement.

“Yes, Sweetie,” Blaine chuckled, “they were. And I was on my way down our main staircase when I heard someone say ‘excuse me.’ So, I turned, and there he was—the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

 

~

 

“He turned around, and there he was. I told him I was new—“

“You were a spy and a liar?” Tori looked as though her moral world were collapsing.

“It was just a little white lie, and I wouldn’t normally condone it, but it led to you,” he bopped her on the nose, “so I don’t feel too bad.”

Tori seemed to mull it over, then smiled, “Me either.”

“So, I told him I was new and he stretched out his hand and introduced himself—Blaine. I told him my name and asked him what all the commotion was about—there were a lot of people running about because of the—“

“The Warblers!” Tori finished.

“Yes, Sweet Pea. The Warblers. Well, they were about to perform and Daddy said he knew a shortcut. Then, all of a sudden, he just took my hand and he led me down this beautiful hallway.”

 

~

 

Blaine laughed. “It wasn’t a shortcut.”

 

~

 

“I knew it wasn’t a shortcut but I didn’t care. He was so handsome and kind and he was holding my hand.” Kurt paused and glanced down at Tori, continuing, almost in something like a reverent whisper. “It was the first time another boy had held my hand.”

 

~

 

“I led him to the Senior Commons and made sure he had a prime viewing spot.” Blaine allowed himself a laugh at the expense of his high school self. “Then, I sang what would eventually become our song – Teenage Dream.”

“Ooh, I love that song, Daddy!” Tori exclaimed.

“Me too.”

 

~

 

Kurt couldn’t help but smile as he reminisced. “It felt like he was singing to me.”

 

~

 

“I was singing to him…for him…I’ve always been singing for him.” Once he heard the words on his own lips, Blaine knew they were true.

“And then you fell in love,” Tori declared with a wistful sigh.

 

~

 

“Not right then,” Kurt laughed, “but soon after.”

“What does it feel like?”

 

~

 

“What does what feel like, Sweetie?” Blaine asked, seeking a bit more clarification from his precocious daughter.

“Falling in love.”

 

~

 

“That’s a big question for such a small girl,” Kurt teased.

“Please, Papa, I want to know.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to explain…but it’s complicated. How can I explain this so you’ll understand…?” Kurt paused and Tori allowed it, giving him room to think. “It’s like hearing your favorite song for the first time.”

 

~

 

“At first, it’s a strange and unfamiliar sound, but you think you might like it.” Blaine explained. “Then, you find yourself humming the tune, giving in to it. And before you know it, you’re singing out loud, predicting the next lyric and the music builds into the bridge and you’re completely swept up in it, belting and not caring who sees or hears, and when the chorus begins to fade, you already want to hear it again because you know you’d be content listening to this song for the rest of your life.”

 

~

 

Kurt sighed. “There’s nothing like it….the first time…”

 

~

 

“…the last time…” Blaine whispered.

 

~

 

“…the only time, I’ll ever fall in love.” One lone tear slid down Kurt’s cheek.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Tori?”

“Does it ever go away? The love?”

“No, Honey. It never does.” Kurt smiled at her through his tears. “It’s stuck in your heart forever.”

“Just like the song?”

“Just like the song.”

True to her word, within the next fifteen minutes, Tori had drifted into sleep, leaving Kurt awake and alone in the silence, listening to the song still playing in his heart. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and dialed.

 

*

 

It was chilly and Blaine was a bit stiff.  He had been propped up on his makeshift bed of blankets for hours. The “bed” suffered from poor craftsmanship, but the moon didn’t offer much light, and he could either craft a bed in the dark or chance being seen shuffling about in the waning sunlight, and he couldn’t risk that. He shifted uncomfortably for the umpteenth time, silently cursing himself for not listening to Kurt’s suggestion to install a hammock or at least leave a cot in the tree house when they first built it. But, he sighed and tried again to get comfortable. While he hadn’t exactly enjoyed spending the past month and a half of Friday nights in a tree house in what used to be his back yard, this was the only way he could experience Friday Night Dinners and he couldn’t let that go. Not yet.

That night’s dinner had been particularly solemn, Blaine had observed, looking out of the small wooden window into the large bay windows of their kitchen; though, Kurt’s creation looked a lot more appetizing than the left over, wilted salad Blaine had dutifully forked out of his Tupperware. When his family retired to bed, Blaine had been surprised but happy to see them all pile into he and Kurt’s bed, much the same way he and Tori had the night before. But as much as he loved seeing them together, cuddled around their sleeping son, giggling and joking about who-knows-what, Blaine couldn’t help but feel the sting in his heart and his watering eyes. His family was a family…without him. The proof was there, visible, and painful.

Tori had joined Bertie in sleep and it looked as if Kurt was soon headed that way, so Blaine lay down on his lumpy pallet and tried to get some sleep.

_This is real. Let’s run away and don’t ever look back._

Blaine’s phone was ringing. He sat bolt upright, his head swiveling wildly in the direction of the window, toward Kurt’s shadowed figure in the dark of their bedroom. Kurt wasn’t asleep. Kurt was perched on the edge of their bed. Kurt was on the phone. Blaine scrambled for his illuminated phone, his mouth falling open at the sight of Kurt’s name and smiling face shining from the screen. Blaine snapped his head toward the window, fixed his eyes on Kurt, and answered.

“He-hello?” Blaine stammered.

“Blaine? Hi…umm…I…I’m packing up for the trip tomorrow and Tori says she needs her favorite purple jacket. You know the one with the pink lining?”

“Of course.” Blaine knew the one. In fact, he had seen Kurt drape it over their luggage, which was seated at the foot of their bed, mere feet from where Kurt sat now.

“Well, I can’t find it anywhere, and I was wondering if maybe she left it at your place.”

What was going on? What was Kurt doing? Blaine didn’t know, but he sure wanted to find out. “It’s…possible.”

“Would…would you mind looking?” Kurt asked.

Kurt knew where that jacket was just as well as Blaine did, yet he was asking Blaine to look for it? There was more to this…maybe the more for which Blaine had been waiting. He allowed himself to hope. “No, I don’t mind. Here, let me go check.” Blaine sat perched on his knees in the tree house he and Kurt had built for their children and watched as Kurt gingerly crawled back into bed, tucked the covers around him, and cradled the phone to his ear.

“Umm…while you’re looking, I never asked if you were still going to the Dalton thing next weekend.”

“I was…thinking about it. Why?” There were so many questions swirling in Blaine’s mind, he was having trouble answering Kurt’s—Kurt who was laying in bed, on the phone with him, pretending to pack, and sending him on a fool’s errands.

“Well, I’m already going to be in town, so…I was thinking of stopping by for a bit. It’d be nice to see some of the guys.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” What was Kurt’s angle here? “You should say ‘hi’ for me.”

“You really should think about going too, Blaine.” Blaine could tell Kurt was getting comfortable—his endearingly bossy tone was surfacing. “You’re the real Dalton boy.”

Blaine could see Kurt’s smile and he allowed himself one as well. “You’re as much of a Warbler as I am. Once a Warbler, always a Warbler.”

“That’s true, I suppose. Which is even more reason for you to go. Plus…” Kurt hesitated, “it’d be a reason to wear the blazer.”

“You always hated those blazers.” Blaine found himself laughing, but when he heard Kurt’s voice again, it was surprisingly serious, honest.

“No, Blaine. I loved the blazer.” Kurt inhaled. “I still do.”

If Kurt was saying what Blaine thought—hoped—he was saying, he needed to hear it. Really hear it. “Kurt…I…I’m not seeing Tori’s jacket…is there…something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh! Haha, I found it!” Kurt unconvincingly announced, still lying in bed. “Right under my nose the whole time!”

“Kurt? Please,” Blaine tried, “We should—we need to—about the papers—“

“Thanks for your help,” Kurt rushed. “Sorry to bother you so late. But, I’ll see you next weekend…maybe?” He sounded desperate, as though he needed that assurance for a peaceful night’s sleep.

“Yes. Maybe.”

“Oh, good.” Blaine could both see and hear Kurt’s sigh of relief. “Goodnight, Blaine.”

“Goodnight, Kurt.”

Blaine watched as Kurt took the illuminated phone slowly from his ear and into his line of sight, the light shining on Kurt’s face making it possible for Blaine to read the last three words on Kurt’s lips before he, too, fell into sleep: “I love you.”

Those words had brought Blaine back before, allowed them to begin anew, co-writing chapters and volumes of their love. Now, Blaine allowed those words to drift from his lips and into the wind, rustling the pages of their story, begging him to continue writing, to continue reading, because those words held the promise of an ending they could happily meet, together. For that promise—for Kurt—he would reopen the covers of his heart. For Blaine still believed that theirs could be a story worth reading, a story worth living, again, and again, and again, as long as they were willing to start over, at the beginning.


	14. Pieces of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the nearly 2 year wait! If you've stuck around from the beginning, these final chapters and the epilogue are dedicated to you!
> 
> For the sake of clarity, this chapter picks up at the end of Ch 11. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: noncon situation

  **Friday, March 9, 2012**

 

“He’s harmless, Kurt,” Blaine chuckled.

“Harmless, huh?” Kurt huffed, snatching Blaine’s phone from his hand.

“Kurt, is this really necessary?” Blaine was still smiling, fighting to keep his laughter to a minimum. He didn’t want to upset Kurt, but he couldn’t help finding this side of his boyfriend adorably amusing. Kurt was jealous. Blaine thought it was precious, especially because, to him, there was nothing at all to worry about, and watching Kurt work himself into a territorial tizzy made Blaine want to simultaneously dote on and ravish him. It was just so cute and intriguingly sexy. 

“ _Hey, killer! Are you bringing all that sexy to the club tonight?_ ” Kurt’s dramatic reading of Blaine’s most recent text from Sebastian pulled Blaine out of his fantasy and back to reality…a reality where Kurt was still very much angry and fully clothed (and still— _always_ —adorable). “ _We didn’t get to dance nearly enough last time._ ” Kurt was really getting into it, pulling faces and glaring pointedly as if daring Blaine to continue to insist on Sebastian’s alleged harmlessness. Kurt looked up from the phone, eyes narrow and taunted, “Oh, and this is the best part!” Kurt was getting even more worked up, taking a dramatic pause before angrily enunciating every single word in the rest of Sebastian’s text. “ _I have some hot new dance moves I want you to see._ ” Kurt held the phone up, screen facing Blaine, and shook it, “He likes you! He wants you, Blaine! Are you going to deny it?” Kurt challenged.

“Of course not.” Blaine’s easy smile and relaxed tone caught Kurt off guard, his eyes going wide.

“Wha…?”

“Kurt, babe, please hand me the phone,” Blaine soothed, casually holding out his hand. Kurt lifted his arm up straight into the air, holding it out of Blaine’s reach.

“Uh uh. No.” Kurt turned his back, but Blaine just smiled, sidling up behind him, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist, and tucking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder.  

Blaine caressed Kurt’s outstretched arm. “Kurt,” Blaine sang into Kurt’s ear, gently rocking him from side to side. “Please put the phone down, sweetie.”

“No, Blaine,” Kurt stiffened, even stomping his foot (Blaine had to bite his lip to keep from giggling), “Not until you admit Sebastian wants you!”

Blaine dropped his hand from Kurt’s arm, tightened his hold around Kurt’s middle, and hummed into his ear, “You’re right.  He does.”

Kurt turned so fast in Blaine’s arms that Blaine stumbled and almost fell over. “Ah ha!” Kurt declared, throwing the phone onto his bed. “So you admit it!”

When Blaine regained his balance, he was still smiling. “Of course I admit it, Kurt.”

Kurt’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened as he stood frozen to the spot. Blaine fixed his eyes on Kurt and approached, carefully pacing every step until they were again face to face. Blaine placed his hands firmly on Kurt’s hips. “You’re correct about Sebastian, but you’re forgetting the most important thing.”

Kurt’s lips pursed and eyebrows arched in challenge.

Blaine let the smile slip from his lips as he set his jaw and pulled a stubbornly resistant Kurt to him until their foreheads touched. Then, with firm sincerity, four words traveled from Blaine’s mouth and ghosted across Kurt’s lips: “I. Only. Want. You.” Kurt seemed to shrink a few centimeters and Blaine could feel Kurt’s weight press into him. Blaine slid his hands up Kurt’s frame and cupped his face, connecting their eyes. “I love _you_ , Kurt. _Only_ , you.”

Kurt’s eyes were downcast, but his forehead moved up and down against Blaine’s and he sniffled. “I know you love me, but—“

“No ‘buts,’ Kurt,” Blaine interrupted. “You’re it for me. Sebastian may as well not exist for all he means to me. Yes, he’s a fellow Warbler, and since his reform we share an obligatory level of friendship that requires my kindness. But, this…” Blaine grabbed Kurt’s right hand and pressed Kurt’s palm hard to his own chest. “This. Do you feel that?”

Kurt and Blaine stood in silence, Kurt’s hand held firmly to Blaine’s chest. Kurt’s head slowly nodded in time with the steady rhythm of Blaine’s life thrumming below his warm skin.

“Every single one,” Blaine gently declared. “They’re all for you, Kurt.”  

Kurt’s face softened and his glistening eyes held Blaine’s gaze. “Come here,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand, leading him to the bed, and gesturing for him to sit. Kurt sat straight-backed at the foot of his bed with his arms crossed. Blaine plopped down beside him and began immediately stroking the small of Kurt’s back. “Now, I’m guessing you’re upset because you don’t like it when other guys hit on me.”

“Oh, you think?” Kurt sassed.

“And I empathize with that,” Blaine pressed on.

“So, is that why you laughed at me?” Kurt muttered, trying for indignant.

“Yes, because I think it’s adorable.” Blaine reached out and playfully squeezed Kurt’s knee. “I didn’t mean for it to upset you, it’s just I don’t get to see territorial Kurt very often and you’re cute when you’re feisty. It’s like you’re defending our couple-y honor.’” They both chuckled and Kurt finally uncrossed his arms and leaned into Blaine. “But babe,” Blaine continued softly, moving his hand up to lightly stroke the back of Kurt’s neck, “if you’re upset because you feel threatened or because you have any fear that my heart isn’t yours completely, then I’m hurt.”

Kurt’s expression held a question and confusion but he didn’t speak.

“I’m hurt that you would have so little faith in me…in _us_ …” Blaine continued, his eyes moist. “…and it makes me think I haven’t done enough to make you believe my love. Because if you did, you’d know that I’m not going to leave you, especially not for a few pick up lines and text messages from the guy that nearly blinded me, no matter how many times he apologizes.”

It was Kurt’s turn to comfort and he took his cue, grabbing Blaine’s face and kissing him before looping his arms over Blaine’s shoulders in an embrace and whispering urgently, “I believe your love. I do.” Kurt pulled back to look in Blaine’s eyes before admitting, “It’s just…I don’t believe _him_. Why are we even still talking to him?”

“Because that’s what you do when someone apologizes and you agree to be friends.”

“I still don’t trust him.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Kurt answered without hesitation.

“Then trust me when I tell you Sebastian is nothing to worry about. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Is that so?” Kurt smirked, relenting.

“Yep.” Blaine stole a quick kiss.

“Hmm, but I thought you were going to the club tonight with your BFF?” Kurt teased.

Blaine grabbed Kurt’s hips and rolled over onto his back, steadying Kurt astride his lap. “Only if you bring all that sexy with you.” Blaine gave a devilish grin as he squeezed Kurt’s bottom.

Kurt giggled and shook his head, “Blaine Anderson, these pick up lines, tsk tsk tsk.”

“See how terrible they are?” Blaine smiled and surged upward to kiss Kurt. “I’d simply ask,” _kiss_ ,  “if you’d like to accompany me,” _peck_ , “for a night on the town.”

“And I’d say yes,” _smooch_ , “I’d love to.” With that, Kurt rolled off of Blaine and bounded off the bed with surprising speed.

Blaine sat up on his elbows, “Where are you going?”

“To get changed,” Kurt called as he ran to his closet. “If we’re going out, I need to make sure you’re not the only one getting hit on!” 

Blaine propped himself up on his elbow, shook his head slightly, and laughed under his breath.

“Oh,” Kurt popped his head out of his walk in closet. “I’m gonna invite Rachel and Mercedes. They wanted to hang out tonight.”

“Sounds great! The more the merrier,” Blaine called back. Kurt slipped back into his closet and Blaine rummaged for his phone in the rumpled bed covers. Finding it, he shook his head at Sebastian’s text with a chuckle, and thumbed out a response: _I’ll be there and I’ll be bringing all the sexy: Rachel, Mercedes, and of course, Kurt!_

***

 

Kurt alone had always taken awhile to perfect his ensemble and be “runway ready.”  His routine, combined with Blaine’s gelling regimen and Rachel and Mercedes’s primping needs all cramped in Kurt’s bathroom meant it took exponentially longer for them to be ready for their close ups. The dance floor at Scandals never really picked up until around 11, but even though they had fake IDs, they were still high school students and curfews were a very real thing. They were supposed to meet Sebastian at Scandals at 9:30, but didn’t even leave Kurt’s house until 9:40. Blaine was uncomfortable. He couldn’t stand being late, it was more than ungentlemanly—it was downright rude. But try as he might, his gentle suggestions to Rachel that her hair had been perfect 15 minutes ago and that they should’ve left 15 minutes before _that_ had fallen on ears made deaf by the roar of a blow dryer.  So, he had thumbed out a text to Sebastian under Kurt’s still watchful eye.

“Just letting him know we’re running late,” Blaine reassured.

 

***

**Blaine 9:20pm**

_Hey Sebastian, we underestimated how long it would take for everyone to get ready, so we’re running a bit late. We’re sorry for the delay._

Sebastian slammed his phone down on the bar, and asked the bartender for another. 

“Boyfriend running late?” the bartender asked, handing Sebastian his usual Heineken.

“You could say that.”

Sebastian got through another two beers by the time Blaine, Kurt, Rachel and Mercedes strolled in.

“Finally!” Sebastian huffed.

“Oh, which one is he?” the bartender asked, eyeing the new arrivals.

“The hot one with the gel and the bowtie.”

“He’s quite a cutie, and so is that lanky one with them. Should I make him a drink?”

“Just give him what I’m having.”  Sebastian grabbed another Heineken from the bartender, strode toward the entering group and, ignoring Kurt, Rachel and Mercedes, handed the beer to Blaine. “So glad you could make it, killer. I got something for you.”

Blaine forced out a polite response, “Thanks, Sebastian.” Blaine could ignore the blatant flirting, but he didn’t like Sebastian’s open disregard for others, especially Kurt. “Sorry we’re late. We’re gonna head to the bar and then we’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

“Good, don’t keep me waiting too long.” Sebastian winked at Blaine before heading toward the neon lights of the dance floor.

“Wow, Kurt,” Mercedes said, her mouth a little open and her eyes watching Sebastian’s retreating back as they walked toward the bar. “You weren’t joking. He _is_ still an ass.”

“And not just because he’s competition!” Rachel interjected.  

“I thought he’d ‘reformed?’” Mercedes used air quotes for emphasis.

“Apparently that doesn’t extend to respecting other people and their _relationships_ ,” Kurt quipped.

Blaine sighed. “Yes, but he’s ultimately harmless. Let’s just ignore him, be as nice as we can, and have a good time, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” Kurt said coolly, reaching the bar and hoisting himself expertly onto a stool.

Blaine placed his hand on Kurt’s lower back to sooth him. “Here, why don’t you have this?” Blaine offered Kurt the beer Sebastian had given him.

Kurt huffed. “No, thank you. He probably roofied it anyway.” Registering what he’d just said, Kurt snatched the beer from Blaine, holding it from the top with his thumb and forefinger as though it was diseased, and waved for the bartender. “Can you please take this? He’ll have a rum and Coke,” he said, gesturing to Blaine. “And they’ll have…” Kurt looked to Rachel and Mercedes.

“I’ll have a Cosmo!” Rachel squeaked, hopping in place.

“Cranberry and vodka, please,” Mercedes smiled, trying to display as little underage excitement over ordering her first drink at a bar as she could.

“And how about you, cutie?” The bartender asked Kurt.

“Oh, no, umm, I’ll just have a Shirley Temple please,” Kurt blushed. “I’m the DD tonight.”

The bartender clucked his tongue dramatically. “Such a shame. You’re probably even cuter on the dance floor, tipsy and shimmying.”

“Yes, he is.” Blaine interjected. “Would you mind bringing us our drinks please?”

The bartender looked from Kurt to Blaine, knitted his eyebrows together, shrugged, and turned to go make their drinks.

Kurt sat up straight on his stool and whispered, “Who’s jealous now?”

Blaine leaned in and gave Kurt a chaste kiss on the cheek before breathing in his ear, “I told you I empathize. I’m just defending our couple-y honor.”

When the drinks arrived, Blaine, Rachel and Mercedes eagerly partook.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? We could always take a cab home.” Blaine offered.

“No, I’m fine. Someone has to make sure you and Rachel don’t get sloppy and start making out.”  Blaine dropped his head and giggled.

 

***

It was a good thing Kurt stayed sober because Rachel did, in fact, get sloppy.  At least this time she targeted her misplaced drunken affections at an extremely uninterested Sebastian who kept batting her away and nudging her toward a dancing Mercedes and refocusing his attentions on Blaine who was nearly as gone as Rachel, but still vigorously shaking his hips in Kurt’s direction over by the bar.  Kurt was resting his feet and grabbing waters for everyone. It had been hard work staying sober and keeping himself strategically between an increasingly drunk Blaine and an increasingly predatory (something he hadn’t thought possible) Sebastian.

Kurt leaned on the bar, miffed. If Kurt was honest with himself, he knew Blaine really only had eyes for him, Kurt, that night, getting clumsily handsy and nipping adorably at his neck on the dance floor. But he still didn’t trust Sebastian and had felt Sebastian glaring at him in the moments Blaine had been especially affectionate while they had danced, as though he was looking for an in and Kurt was an obstacle. At that moment, with Kurt a good distance away at the bar, it seemed Sebastian had found his opportunity. Kurt looked up just in time to see Sebastian’s hands find Blaine’s hips, turning a swaying Blaine toward him and leaning down, apparently whispering something in Blaine’s ear. Mercedes was too busy trying to steady Rachel on her feet to notice, but Kurt certainly saw and rage pushed him from the bar, waters forgotten, and he stormed onto the dance floor grabbing Blaine’s arm and yanking him away, but not before giving Sebastian a look that he hoped struck him dead where he stood.

“Kurt! There you are!” Blaine said comically loud, his eyes fluttering shut and head lolling onto Kurt’s shoulder. “Been lookin’ for you forever,” he slurred, nipping again at Kurt’s neck but missing, his head bobbing aimlessly instead. Blaine was stumbling, nearly dead weight, so Kurt grabbed one of Blaine’s exploring hands, looped Blaine’s arm over his shoulder and led Blaine’s drunken weight back to the bar.  Kurt had just gotten Blaine onto a stool, most of his weight held up by the sticky bar, when screams and yelps erupted on the dance floor. Kurt turned to see all five of Rachel’s cosmos spraying from her mouth and onto the dance floor.  “Watch him!” Kurt yelled to the bartender and took off toward Rachel, a space clearing around her as she covered the floor with putrid liquid.

“Mercedes, help me with her!” Kurt called as he grabbed Rachel from one side. He’d thought of asking Sebastian, but he seemed more interested in making sure his designer clothes were vomit free than helping people he clearly hadn’t wanted around in the first place.  Mercedes hurried over, doing her best to avoid the pool Rachel had created, and draped Rachel’s other arm over her shoulder.

“What are we gonna do with her?” Mercedes called over the music.

“We need to get her to the car. This is clearly our cue to exit,” Kurt called, leading them toward the door, Rachel passed out between them, her chin on her chest and feet dragging behind her.

 

***

“Hey there, Blaine. Sit up.”

Blaine shook his head at the whispered command and gurgled in response. Every time he opened his eyes the room spun and his stomach swooped like it wanted to force its contents out of his mouth. So keeping his eyes and mouth shut seemed like the safest bet. Blaine felt firm arms wrap around him and lift him from the stool. Every movement made him queasy but the warm hands on his body started roaming down his waist to his backside and if Kurt was feeling him up, he definitely wanted to respond. “Mmm, Kurt,” Blaine moaned, turning his head blindly toward where he guessed Kurt’s neck would be. “You smell funny, Kurt,” Blaine slurred, trying to kiss Kurt’s neck but continuing his streak of missing wildly as his head bobbed forward and his chin collided with his chest.

The bartender had watched, slightly amused, as the taller boy lifted his boyfriend from the stool, clearly doing more touching and grabbing than was strictly necessary to lift him. The taller boy sat a wad of cash down on the bar, more than enough to cover the group’s tab.

“Hey, thanks!” the bartender called after the taller boy. “Your boyfriend’s a cutie! Take care of him and those bowties.”

 

*** 

It took Kurt and Mercedes nearly ten minutes to get Rachel squared away in Kurt’s Navigator. Kurt had refused to let her in the car until he was sure she was done vomiting, and after that, he and Mercedes had to get her to stop “performing” (off-key humming and wobbly twirling) long enough to subdue her and get her into the car. Finally, she was prone in the backseat, her head cradled in Mercedes’ lap as she hummed show tunes off-key.

“I’m gonna go get Blaine. I’ll be right back,” Kurt explained to Mercedes before shutting his back, side door and trotting back into Scandals. He tried to ignore the dirty looks from patrons and the employee on the dance floor still dealing with the emptied contents of Rachel’s stomach as he made his way back to the bar to retrieve Blaine. But as Kurt’s eyes scanned the bar, he and his heart came to a dead stop.  Blaine was gone. Kurt ran to the bar, frantic. “Where is he?!” Kurt yelled at the bartender.

“Whoa, cutie, calm down. Where’s the fire?”

“The boy I asked you to watch! Where is he?” Kurt demanded.

The bartender looked around, his eyes fell on the stool Blaine previously occupied, and a light went on in his eyes. “Oh, the one with the bowtie?” 

“Yes! Him!”

“His boyfriend came and got him. They were all over each other.” He laughed. “He also paid your tab, so no worries.”

Kurt was trying and failing to manage his anger and rising panic at the bartender’s words. He needed more information. “His _boyfriend_? What the hell are you talking about? What did he look like?”

“Tall, skinny, designer clothes…drank Heinekens all night.”

Realization hit Kurt like a punch to the gut and he almost doubled over with dread. He was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. “Which way…” deep breath, “did they go?”

“Headed out the back, toward the bathrooms.” Kurt turned and ran. The bartender just shook his head and shrugged. Kids these days.

 

***

 

“Kurt where er we goin? Don’ feel good.”

“Shhhh, killer.  I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

“Kurt…you don’ soun’ like Kurt…” Blaine murmured, cracking his eyes open as he fell into a door without warning. He felt it swing open and suddenly everything was bright white and blinding. He lost his footing but the Kurt-that-didn’t-sound-or-smell-like-Kurt caught him. He clung to the strong arms around him as he was shuffled backward until his knees hit something solid, forcing him down on his bottom. Thankfully, he seemed to have landed in a seated position on something cold and hard.

Blaine moaned. Kurt-that-didn’t-sound-or-smell-like-Kurt was mouthing at his neck. It felt nice, but this didn’t feel like Kurt either. Blaine’s mind was a whirlpool but through the blur and the spinning the non-Kurtness of everything was beginning to feel like a very solid and heavy anchor in his gut. He didn’t like it. Blaine forced his eyes open and after the room finally stilled the first thing his mind registered was blue. A wall of blue in front of him. Oh, a little speck of silver too. His head lolled, giving him a view to his side. Tile. White tile. Something in his mind slid into place—bathroom. He was in a bathroom.

A jolt of shock went through Blaine’s entire body. He was in a bathroom, sitting on a toilet, with a guy sucking on his neck and, if what he felt were knuckles just below his belly button, the guy was also undoing his pants. It didn’t matter that when he looked down he could only see a head of brown hair and a nondescript jaw mouthing at his neck—he knew this wasn’t Kurt.  Even his liquor sodden brain knew Kurt would never do this, not in a dirty club bathroom. Not with Blaine about to vomit. Too much florescent light and not nearly enough romance.

Blaine’s limbs were heavy with drink, but powered by the mantra of “not Kurt” ringing in his head, he managed to lift his arms and push against the stranger’s shoulders. Having been crouched down, the stranger tumbled backward into the stall door, knocking it open.

With the man off of him, Blaine made to stand up. He was almost on his feet when he locked eyes with the rising stranger and recognition dawned on him: “S’bastian?!” Blaine swayed with shock, grabbing his head as his shoulder collided with the side stall wall.

Sebastian was back on his feet with dizzying speed. Blaine tried to balance on his own two feet and push past Sebastian and out of the stall, but Sebastian shoved Blaine back into the stall and Blaine fell backward into the toilet with a thud. Blaine cried out with the pain of it.

“Shhh, it didn’t hurt that much,” Sebastian spat, advancing on Blaine. “Plus, now that Miss Priss is gone, we get to play. Enjoy it.” Sebastian sneered. “I will.” Sebastian reached down and, ignoring Blaine’s slurred “nosstop,” grabbed at Blaine’s belt, tugging it loose and getting the top button of Blaine’s pants open before Blaine managed to regroup, swiping at and pushing against Sebastian’s chest and shoulders with little coordination or success.

Sebastian suddenly let go of Blaine’s pants and stood up straight. “No? Not interested in that game?” Sebastian teased, grabbing Blaine’s jaw and tilting Blaine’s head back so he could look into Blaine’s frightened and unfocused eyes. “We’ll just have to try something different won’t we?”

Still holding Blaine’s face, completely unfazed by Blaine’s protests and weak slaps at his arm, Sebastian started unbuckling his own belt. Blaine tried but couldn’t shake his head out of Sebastian’s grip.

 

**

Kurt nearly slid on the slick club floor, rounding the corner toward the bathroom at a run.

Over the music and the thud of his own heartbeat, Kurt thought he could hear the telltale sounds of struggle. Kurt was halfway down the dark and abandoned hallway when he heard Blaine’s voice, clear as day: “S’bastian! Nosstop!”

“Come on, open your mouth!”

Terrified of what he might find, but more frightened of what might happen if he was too late, Kurt threw open the door to the men’s bathroom and tried to keep down the bile rising in his throat as he attempted to digest the scene unfolding in front of him.

One of the blue stall doors was hanging open. Sebastian was standing in it, his back to Kurt. At this angle, Kurt could see Blaine slumped on the toilet, fear and confusion in his eyes, his jaw clasped in Sebastian’s grip, his lips in a tight line, and his head shaking.

Kurt lost the next seconds in a fog of rage and adrenaline. The next thing Kurt was aware of was somehow being in the stall with Blaine, Sebastian in the background, struggling to his feet and cradling his bleeding head where it had collided with and shattered what had been the dingy bathroom mirror.

Kurt bent down and gently cupped Blaine’s face where bruises were already forming. “Blaine, baby, look at me, are you all right?” Kurt’s eyes roamed over Blaine looking for any more bruises or obvious injuries. His eyes fell to Blaine’s lap where Blaine’s pants were still undone and he choked back a sob.

Blaine’s eyes fluttered open. “Kurt, you’re back,” Blaine seemed to smile as his eyes went glassy and unfocused again.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetie,” Kurt whispered as he tried to steady his shaky hands so he could button Blaine’s pants and buckle his belt.

“He’s fucking fine!” Sebastian drunkenly yelled from behind Kurt, leaning against the sink for balance and checking his bleeding head in what was left of the mirror. “We were enjoying ourselves just fine before you sashayed in and interrupted.”

Kurt spun to face Sebastian. “What did you do to him, you son of a bitch?”

“Nothing he didn’t want,” Sebastian taunted, making a show of zipping his pants up.

“He’s barely coherent!” Kurt’s voice broke. “You sick, twisted fuck! Get out before I call the police!”

“Go ahead. They’ll just call my father. Ya’ know, the state attorney? And what with these injuries,” Sebastian made a show of the blood on his hand, clearly from his head wound, ”I’m pretty sure it’s you they’ll have in a cell by morning.” Emboldened, Sebastian advanced on Kurt. “Your little boyfriend too, after I tell them how you both ganged up on me in the bathroom. All a part of your revenge plot since you somehow got it in your head that I was responsible for Blaine’s recent eye injury and surgery.”

Kurt and Sebastian were face to face. Kurt standing in the doorway of the stall with Blaine behind him, still seated on the toilet, his head propped on the stall wall, eyes closed and so peaceful he could’ve been sleeping. Kurt, unafraid and unmoving, stared Sebastian right in the eyes and spoke with the cool conviction of a threat he had every intention of fulfilling: “ _My father_ is in Congress. He _makes_ laws. If you ever come near us again, I swear I will not only end you, but also your father, your mother, and your entire lineage. I will ruin everything you are or could ever hope to be.”

Kurt did not blink or move and Sebastian relented, taking a few, slow backward steps before turning and leaving the bathroom. With Sebastian gone, Kurt turned and refocused his attention on Blaine. Kurt bent down, took both of Blaine’s arms over his shoulders and lifted, stumbling backward slightly. “Come on sweetie, I need you to walk a bit for me,” Kurt breathed into Blaine’s ear.

The jostling seemed to shake Blaine alert. Blaine stumbled a little, but managed to hold some of his own weight. Blaine took a deep breath, his face tucked into the crook of Kurt’s neck. “Yousmelllieyounow, Kurt.”

“Good. I’m here now,” Kurt tried to keep the tears out of his voice. “It’s okay.”

Kurt shifted Blaine’s weight and they began making their way, ever so slowly, out of the bathroom and to Kurt’s car. “Kurt?” Blaine whispered once they were in the darkened hallway.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“ ’m glad you here now…was scary widouchu.”

 

***

**Wednesday, November 21, 2012**

  
  
**Him 2:47pm**  
I’m here. 

**Thursday, November 22, 2012**

**  
  
  
Him 8:19am**  
For you.   
  
 **Him 5:32pm**  
I miss you.  
  
 **Him 11:56pm**  
I love you.

**Friday, November 23, 2012**

**  
  
  
Blaine 12:03am**  
I love you.   
  
 **Him 12:05am**  
Can we meet?  
  
 **Blaine 12:09am**  
Where?  
  
 **Kurt 12:11am**  
At the beginning.

 

**12:20am**

 

Blaine was an impeccable driver. He believed in wearing his seatbelt, holding his hands at 10 and 2, checking all three mirrors before changing lanes, waiting 5 seconds at every stop sign, and, above all, he never exceeded the speed limit by more than 5 mph.  So when Blaine took a sharp turn going 80 mph in a 50 mph zone, spun out, and somehow came to a smoking yet safe halt on the shoulder of the road, he decided he needed to take a moment to collect himself.  If there was any time that he needed to “arrive alive” as the ad campaign he took very seriously cautioned, it was tonight.  After basically a month of radio silence and his valiant attempts to come to terms with the idea that he and Kurt were over, Kurt’s text messages had simultaneously undone and remade his entire world. The only thing he knew for sure anymore was that he needed to be where Kurt was as soon as humanly possible. Sitting on the side of the road, his car facing oncoming traffic and the heat emanating from his tires white and wispy in the cold of the night, Blaine updated the list of things he knew for sure: 1) I love Kurt, 2) Kurt loves me, 3) I need to be where Kurt is, and 4) I need to be alive when I get there.

Blaine smoothed down the front of his winter coat, tightened his scarf, and pulled slowly and deliberately back onto the road toward his heart’s only destination: Kurt.

 

***

Kurt should have been cold. The surrounding grounds were still dusted with snow. Icicles were lengthening above him where he stood on the entry steps to the aging, yet still majestic building. Yet, Kurt was sweating—his anxiety and anticipation lighting a furnace in his middle such that he had to loosen his perfectly wrapped scarf to release some of the steam lest he cook in his own clothes. It was for the best really, since the doors had been locked and there was no chance of getting inside to warm up. Which sadly also meant he couldn’t get to _the_ staircase, so the slowly icing one beneath his feet would have to do. Honestly, he should’ve thought of this little snag, seeing as he had attended the school himself and knew full well that curfew was at 11pm and strictly enforced—all lights out, all doors locked. But his combined desperation to see Blaine and inclination for romance had driven tiny details like time and temperature from his mind…a mind that went completely blank when a familiar Volkswagen station wagon parked near the entrance.

Blaine, somehow even more gorgeous than the pristine, dreamy image preserved in Kurt’s memory, walked up the Dalton entrance clad in his navy blue pea coat and dark wash jeans cuffed to reveal a rare socked ankle just visible above his dark gray saddle shoes. At the sight of Blaine’s tentative smile and five o’clock shadow, the finals of the Olympic floor exercise competition commenced in Kurt’s tummy.

It took all of Blaine’s composure not to run to Kurt and wrap him in his arms, if only to be sure he was real.  But Blaine didn’t know what the rules were, so he instead walked until he reached the invisible barrier of betrayal, anger, and doubt built by a month of silence, and stood…waiting.

It was Kurt who spoke first. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Kurt didn’t really know where to begin, so he started with the truth. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad you wanted to see me,” Blaine confessed.

“I always want to see you.” Kurt trembled, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. “ _Only_ want to see you.”

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine whispered, his own tears flowing now. And with that, the wall between them crumbled and they crashed into each other: fingers dug into backs, ran through hair, and cupped faces; tears mingled and dampened the other’s cheeks; and mouths uttered breathless apologies and declarations of love into ears between haphazard kisses.  

“I missed you so much,” Blaine sighed into the corner of Kurt’s mouth, squeezing him even more tightly.

“I missed you too. So much, Blaine.” Kurt pulled back and cupped Blaine’s face. “I’m so so sorry, you have to believe me,” Kurt implored through his tears.

“I know. Me too,” Blaine replied, thumbing away Kurt’s tears. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re here.”

“No,” Kurt gripped Blaine’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “It _does_ matter. I need you to know that Timmy and I—“

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupted, shaking his head, “I don’t care. Whatever you did with Timmy—“  

“I didn’t do anything with Timmy,” Kurt rushed, talking over Blaine.

Blaine paused and his eyebrows knit together. “But…but I called and…”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “You called?”

“Of course, I called,” Blaine whispered, slowly shaking his head at Kurt’s doubt. “You have to know I didn’t mean…would _never_ mean I was done.”

“I know, I know.” Kurt leaned in and kissed Blaine.

“I called the very next morning and when Timmy answered and said you were in the shower, I thought…I thought…”

“Wha? No, oh my God no!”

“So…you didn’t?” Blaine blinked. “You weren’t together?”

Kurt cradled Blaine’s face in his palms, and spoke slowly and confidently as he gazed into Blaine’s eyes. “No.” A beat. “Never.” Kurt kissed a tear from Blaine’s cheek. “I haven’t seen him since that morning. I never even wanted him, Blaine.” Kurt shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “You asked why I kissed him.”

“Kurt, please, you don’t—“ Blaine tried.

“Shhh,” Kurt, eyes still closed, leaned his forehead against Blaine’s. “Let me. _Please_.”

Moments passed and Blaine did not protest. Kurt pressed on. “You asked me why I kissed him. I kissed him because I needed to kiss _you_. Because when you asked if I wanted to do this… _us_ , anymore, I said it was difficult, but I didn’t mean being with you is difficult. I meant that being _without_ you is difficult.” Kurt’s eyes surveyed the entirety of Blaine. “I want you _all_ of the time. I _need_ you all of the time. So much so, that when I’m away from you, I try to recreate you…I search the universe for pieces of you. Convincing myself I see you in the warm brown eyes of a stranger. Reaching out for the dark curls of a random man on the subway just so I can pretend I touched you that day. Going to musicals to hear even a cheap imitation of your voice and singing along because I miss our harmony. I’ve been kicked out of five Broadway shows since I moved to New York, _three_ in the last month, Blaine!” 

Blaine dropped his head and giggled. Kurt leaned his head to the side and smiled.

“You were right…he liked me, and I knew it. But I didn’t want to admit it… _couldn’t_ admit it...especially not after Sebastian, because that would mean he and I couldn’t be friends…” Kurt dropped his head, ashamed.

“Was…were you afraid he was like Sebastian?”

“No. He would never…nothing like that.”

Blaine exhaled and Kurt continued. “But he didn’t respect our relationship. I knew that when I woke up after the party with his arm around me. But I—I needed a _friend_ and he was the only person even interested in talking to me at all, and I thought I could handle it.”

“So did I…” Blaine muttered empathetically.

“So I…I tried to apologize after I yelled at him that morning. And he had your sense of humor, and he smiled at me the way you do.” Tears clouded Kurt’s voice. “He even rubbed in the facial scrub we bought in the same weird way you do.” Kurt looked to the sky and laughed through his tears, shaking his head and wiping his nose with his hand before continuing. “So many pieces of you…it almost felt like home. And then he sat down next to me, and I knew he was about to kiss me but I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and then it was happening and I—I closed my eyes and made myself believe it was you, because I had to. I _needed_ it to be you. I _always_ need it to be you. I will always need it to be you.”

Blaine surged forward and gave Kurt exactly what he needed, what they both needed in that moment.  It was messy and unpretty, with cold, running noses jammed against tearful cheeks, and uncoordinated tongues, clattering teeth and chapped lips.  It was all of their complexity, ugly and crazy fused with the simplicity, beauty, and logic of them. It was Kurt and Blaine, Blaine and Kurt, together: perfect in their imperfection.

An hour later, snuggled in the backseat of Blaine’s station wagon, covered in a makeshift blanket of coats and scarves, the fog of their love making shielding them from view of the outside world, they traded most-pathetic-thing-you-did-when-you-thought-we-had-broken-up stories. It was Kurt’s turn. “There was a man wearing your cologne.” Kurt whispered into Blaine’s neck. “I followed him for five city blocks. I almost got arrested.”

“Oh, _Kurt_.” Blaine turned and placed a soothing kiss on Kurt’s forehead.

Kurt shifted until he was on top of Blaine, pressing his forearms to Blaine’s chest for balance. Looking down at Blaine, Kurt confessed, “Seriously, Blaine. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t agreed to meet me.” Kurt tucked his fingers into Blaine’s love-mussed curls. “I can’t survive on pieces of you.”

Blaine grabbed Kurt’s wrist, slid Kurt’s fingers out of his hair down to his cheek, and turned and placed a kiss in Kurt’s palm. “You’ll never have to. You have me. _All_ of me.”

They shared all of each other twice more before a flashlight, knock on the window, and a badge told them they had to leave.


	15. Brimley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of clarity, this chapter picks up at the end of Ch 13.

**Saturday, June 14, 2031**

With Bertie sound asleep on his lap and Tori softly snoring with her head on his arm, not quite reaching his shoulder, Kurt had nothing to do but think. The flight from New York to Ohio would last just a bit over an hour and Kurt knew he would spend the entire time contemplating his carryon and the manila envelop tucked inside, literally looming above him. How had it come to this and what would handing those papers to Blaine mean?

**Monday, September 9, 2030**

It was Brimley’s first day. Mere hours after the first group meeting, Kurt had summoned him and Brimley was now seated across from Kurt, patiently rehashing details from the production timeline to the transport used to import the silk. Forty-three minutes later, Kurt’s newest and most inane question yet was interrupted by a knock on the door.   
  
“Tiffany! I swear!”  
  
“Forgive me. Tiffany wasn’t at her desk, so I just came on in,” Kurt would know that voice anywhere. A gelled head emerged from behind the door. “Hi there,” Blaine said with a smile. Then, noticing the suit in the room, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”   
  
“Hey you,” Kurt grinned. “Not a problem. Blaine, this is Brimley. He’s producing the Legend Line and dealing with my insanity.”  
  
“Welcome to my world, Brimley.” Blaine laughed, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”   
  
“Likewise,” replied Brimley with a polite nod.  
  
“I’ll be done shortly. Then dinner?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Then dinner. I’ll just go bother the worker bees.”  
  
“They’ll love that.” Kurt smiled.   
  
“Good to meet you, Brimley,” Blaine offered again before exiting.   
  
“And you.” Brimley turned his attention back to Kurt. “Was that the lucky Mr. Hummel?”  
  
“Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt corrected. “Yes.”   
  
“He’s cute.”   
  
“I know.”   
  
“You’re cuter.” Brimley smiled.  
  
“Umm…Thank you,” Kurt managed. “Well…so…what were we talking about?”  
  
“The brand of thread we’re using for inseams, sir.” 

 

**Thursday, September 26, 2030**

  
**_Brimley Johnston 9:43pm_** __  
Why are you still in your office?  
  
 **The Boss 9:46pm**  
The same reason you are. Working.   
  
 **Brimley Johnston 9:47pm**  
Clearly, I’m not doing my job.   
  
 **The Boss 9:49pm**  
What do you mean? You’re doing a   
wonderful job.  
  
 **Brimley Johnston 9:50pm**  
If I were, you wouldn’t be here.   
  
 **The Boss 9:53pm**  
I’m over anal  
  
 **Brimley Johnston 9:54pm**  
Hmmm. I could help with that.   
  
 **The Boss 9:54pm**  
Analyzing! Over analyzing. Fucking   
autocorrect.   
  
 **Brimley Johnston 9:55pm**  
The former is more interesting.  
  
 **The Boss 10:17pm**  
Goodnight, Brimley.   
  
 **Brimley Johnston 10:18pm**  
Goodnight, Mr. Hummel.   
  
 **The Boss 10:19pm**  
Anderson-Hummel.   
  
 **Brimley Johnston 10:23pm**  
Of course. 

 

**Friday, September 27, 2030**

If only Kurt had had one less meeting, or spent one less minute being an anal retentive perfectionist, maybe he would not be standing in his office being made to feel decidedly uncomfortable under the gaze of Brimley’s green eyes.   
  
“Kurt?”  
  
“Yes, Brimley? I’m busy,” Kurt responded brusquely, pointedly avoiding eye contact.   
  
“I’m sorry for last night,” Brimley whispered sincerely.   
  
“Good,” Kurt finally commented. “It was inappropriate.”  
  
“I know. It won’t happen again. Let me make it up to you.”  
  
“That won’t be necessary, Brimley. Just don’t let it happen again.”  
  
“Really, Kurt. Let me take you to dinner.” Brimley offered. 

“Brimley! What don’t you underst—“  
  
“No, not like that,” Brimley tried to explain. “It would be purely professional. We can start over and you can ask all the nitpicky questions you’d like.”  
  
“Fine, Brimley. Fine. We’ll have dinner.” 

 

***

 

Blaine was moaning lightly and Kurt had just begun to inch Blaine’s shirt from his pants when Kurt’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. 

“Ugh, who would be trying to contact you so late?” Blaine asked.   
  
“I don’t know,” Kurt said, slightly intrigued. Blaine, eyes still closed, reached out blindly for the coffee table. Finally grasping the phone, he passed it behind his head to Kurt. Phone in hand, Kurt stared at the new text message.   
  
 ** _Brimley 10:34pm_** __  
Dinner? Monday after work. Purely  
professional.   
  
Kurt looked down at Blaine beneath him, sighed deeply, thumbed out his response, and tossed the phone lightly back onto the coffee table.   
  
“Who was that?” Blaine asked.   
  
“No one.” Kurt paused, “Just Tiffany letting me know I have a late meeting on Monday. Looks like I’ll have to miss dinner.” 

…that had been the first lie.

The first few dinners had been purely professional…until dinner turned into dinner and drinks.   


**Tuesday, January 7, 2031**

They sat in a corner booth. The lights were dim.   
  
“So, how did you end up with Mr. Anderson?” Brimley asked.   
  
“Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt corrected.  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“We met in high school.”  
  
“Ahh, high school sweethearts. How charming.”   
  
“Yes. He is very charming,”   
  
“As are you.”   
  
“Stop, Brimley.”

 

“No. You need to learn to take a compliment.” Brimley leaned forward. “I get it. You’ve been with the same guy basically all your life. Other men see you, and want you, but they’re too intimidated to approach you, and you’re too caught up in Prince Charming to notice them noticing. You’re not used to being pursued. It’s understandable but unacceptable.”

Kurt had known he should have ended it then. But, he enjoyed too much the feeling of being pursued…especially because he thought he would never get caught. So dinner and drinks quickly turned into just drinks and Kurt never noticed that Brimley was gaining on him. 

 

**Thursday, February 20, 2031**

 

They were at the bar. Again. Brimley’s hand was on Kurt’s knee. Again. 

“I like you.” Brimley let his hand drift up Kurt’s thigh.  
  
“I know.” Kurt removed Brimley’s hand from his thigh.

“And you like the attention.” Brimley leaned in.  
  
“And what if I do?” Kurt asked, lifting his chin.  
  
“Liking the attention isn’t a problem, especially since I like giving it. But you should ask yourself why you’re here bathing in my attentions and not at home with your Prince Charming.”

In the months since Blaine had left, Kurt had searched his brain and heart for an answer. The one he settled on wasn’t pleasant but it was true: he had been stupid and selfish, seeking a little “innocent” excitement outside his daily routine. Kurt had convinced himself that what he had been doing wasn’t so wrong…wasn’t _really_ cheating, because he had left his heart at home, so it was never in danger. But now Kurt knew _he_ should have never left home.

 

**Tuesday, March 18, 2031**

 

He had been in Brimley’s apartment that night. He should have never gone. 

Kurt had been fairly tipsy after their few drinks at the bar and had gotten into a cab with Brimley, thinking he’d be dropped off at the train station, pay his half, and Brimley would continue on his way. When they instead pulled up outside of Brimley’s apartment, Kurt had protested.

“Come on, Kurt. It’s no big deal. You need to sober up a bit before heading home anyway. Wouldn’t want Mr. Hummel to think you’ve been drinking on the job.”

“Mr. Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt corrected with a huff, still not leaving the taxi.

“Seriously, Kurt. Just for a bit. I’ll put on some coffee and show you some secret sketches I stole from the Dior vault.”

Kurt gasped with scandalized excitement, “You stole from the House of _Dior_!”

Brimley laughed and extended his hand to help Kurt from the taxi, “No. They let me have them. But they’re secret all the same.”

Kurt was halfway to Brimley’s door muttering something about minutes and coffee and _oh my God Dior_ by the time Brimley paid the cabdriver. 

Upstairs, standing in the living room of Brimley’s condo, Kurt clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet.

“Come on,” Brimley called as he headed into the kitchen. “I won’t bite.”

Kurt made his way slowly to the kitchen, trying not to drunkenly stumble and also taking note of the exits: he liked the attention, but had no intentions of getting physical. He arrived in the kitchen just as Brimley was putting on a pot of coffee.

“I’ll go grab the sketches,” Brimley said. “They’re in the bedroom…if you want to join me.” He winked.

“No thanks,” Kurt scoffed with a flick of his wrist. “I’m fine right here.”

“Indeed you are.” Brimley mused, disappearing down the hallway.

Once Brimley returned, he handed Kurt a cup of coffee, cradled the sketchbook, and used his free hand to guide Kurt into the living room by the small of his back. At the sensation, Kurt sped up a bit, breaking contact.

Kurt let Brimley sit down first and then sat far enough away to be safe yet not awkward. Minutes later Kurt was literally bouncing in his seat. No doubt a combination of the caffeine and sheer excitement over the Dior sketches.

“Oh, you’ll love this next one,” Brimley said, scooting closer to Kurt on the couch. “It just barely missed the collection, but I’m sure you’ll still recognize it.”

“Oh my God!” Kurt basically screeched. “You can’t be serious! This—this is basically the foundation for Dior’s entire previous spring collection!” Kurt ran his fingers along the page with reverence. “The _lines._ What I wouldn’t give to be able to create like this.”

“But you do, Kurt,” Brimley hummed, placing his hand on Kurt’s thigh. “You’re incredibly talented and your designs are as flawless as you are.”

Kurt tensed and avoided eye contact. “Th-thank you.”

“Is something wrong, Kurt?” Brimley breathed. “Mmmm, I see…how long has it been since you’ve been touched like this?” Brimley’s hand started to rise up Kurt’s thigh and Kurt grabbed it.

“Brimley, I…”

It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. Kurt needed to stop this, but what could he say? He had let this go on for months—the compliments, the innuendos, the dinners, the drinks. And now he’d gotten tipsy and followed Brimley up to his condo. In the back of his mind, Kurt had always known it would lead to this, that in any game of cat and mouse the mouse either stopped offering itself up or would eventually be caught. 

“Shhh, I know he’s neglected you.” Brimley suddenly palmed Kurt’s crotch and whispered, “Does he touch you like this?”

Kurt was on his feet in seconds. “I have to go.”

Brimley chased Kurt to the door. “Kurt, what’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong, Brimley. I’m married. And Blaine _doesn’t_ neglect me.” Kurt heard his voice break and swiped, embarrassed, at the tears suddenly on his face.

“You say that. But there’s a reason you’re here.”

”I shouldn’t have come here. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Curled in the backseat of the cab, Kurt felt dirty. He needed to be home. He needed a shower. He needed Blaine.

 

**Wednesday, March 19, 2031**

  
  
It had to end today.

“Tiffany,” Kurt called into the speaker, “have Brim—Mr. Johnson meet me in my office for lunch.”

Brimley was nothing if not punctual. He came strolling in at exactly 12 o’clock.   
  
“Can’t even wait for dinner, hmm?” Brimley said, strutting confidently into Kurt’s office and stalking across the room toward him. Kurt rose instinctively and defensively from his seat.   
  
“Brimley, we need to talk,” Kurt tried.  
  
“We need to do more than talk,” Brimley teased as he closed the distance between them. Kurt found himself retreating until his back was up against the glass of his windows.   
  
“I’m tired of chasing you,” Brimley whispered into Kurt’s ear, “boosting your ego.” Brimley, only inches separating he and Kurt, placed his lips where Kurt’s jaw met his neck. Kurt pressed his palms against Brimley’s chest and pushed him away.   
  
“We can’t. I can’t!” Kurt said as forcefully as possible.  
  
“He doesn’t have to know,” Brimley pressed, pushing against Kurt’s hands.   
  
“I’ll know! So, he’ll know. It will kill him. And that will kill me.”  
  
“Stop fighting this, Kurt. You know you want this.”  
  
“And that’s bad enough!” Kurt nearly yelled as he pushed Brimley away.  “You have to go. Just get out!”

He went. 

Kurt collapsed into his chair and dropped his head in his hands. How could he fix this if Brimley wouldn’t listen to him? Kurt felt like he had caused this. He didn’t feel as if he could even blame Brimley for his behavior because Kurt had led him on for so long. Brimley was tired of the chase and he wanted the prize to which he felt entitled. Kurt had to find a way out of this unscathed.

“Kurt!” Tiffany ran into the room. “Are you alright? I heard yelling.”

“No.” Kurt sniffled.

Tiffany dropped to her knees beside Kurt’s chair and began gently rubbing his back. He might be her boss, but they were friends first. She had been there at his very first boutique and she knew him well enough to know that he didn’t need an employee right now. Kurt needed a friend.

“Kurt, love, what happened?”

Kurt shook his head in his hands.

“Brimley?”

Kurt nodded his head, still not lifting his head from his hands.

“You…you tried to end it?”

“There is nothing to end!” Kurt insisted through his hands, still not looking up.

“ _Kurt_.” Tiffany pressed.

Kurt’s head snapped up. “Fine! There’s….there’s… _something_ , but it’s not like that, we never even—”

“Had sex?” Tiffany finished.

“No! Of course not! We didn’t even kiss. I don’t even _want_ to kiss him.”

“You just wanted the attention and none of the consequences.” Tiffany stated it softly but the truth knocked the wind out of Kurt.

He could barely speak. “Ho-how do you…?”

“I know you, Kurt. You’ll never want anyone but Blaine, but you’re afraid no one wants you but Blaine.” Tiffany took both of Kurt’s hands in her own. “Which, honestly, Kurt…I’ve never really understood. Even if Blaine was the only person on the planet that wanted you, you’d still be the luckiest man on the planet. You’re the person that the person you love most loves the most. Hell, that’s more than I can say for me and my cat. She doesn’t look at me the way she looks at Fancy Feast.”

Silent tears ran down Kurt’s cheeks and his lips spread into an embarrassed line.

“It’s okay. We all want a little excitement and even danger once in a while.”

Kurt nodded.

“But next time you feel the need for some adventure, maybe go on a vacation or skydiving or something. And whatever you do, take Blaine with you.”

Kurt cracked a smile and actually giggled. “I-I will. I promise.”

“Good. Now I’m gonna get you some tissues while you pull yourself together and then we’re gonna figure out a way to fix this. Even if it means injecting Wilfred T. Brimley with a lethal dose of diabetes.”

Kurt laughed out loud.

“Seriously, what the hell kinda name is Brimley?” Tiffany turned to go, but not before muttering, “…the bastard.”

 

***

 

“Okay, so you know what to do?”

“Yes, Tiffany,” Kurt sighed.

“And if that doesn’t work, you take the next step okay.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, just text me, and I’ll have it done in minutes.” 

“Thanks, Tiffany,” Kurt smiled. “Now, if you could please leave me alone to do this?”

“Alright, but I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

Kurt chuckled and shooed her away with a wave of his hand. Then, he was alone with his thoughts and his phone. He took a deep breath and thumbed out the necessary texts. 

**_The Boss 4:16pm_** __  
Drinks tonight?  
  
 **Brimley Johnson 4:18pm**  
Purely professional?  
  
 **The Boss 4:22pm**  
No…  
  
 **Brimley Johnson 4:23pm**  
What time?  
  
 **The Boss 4:26pm**  
7pm

Next. Blaine. No matter what, no lies. No more lies.

  
**_Kurt 4:30pm_** __  
The imbeciles I let organize this  
weekend’s show have ruined my brilliant   
vision. I’ll be home late tonight.   
  
 **Kurt 4:32pm**  
I’m sorry.   
  
 **Hubby 4:33pm**  
Don’t worry about it, Kurt. I’ll leave some  
of T  & B’s creation in the oven for you.   
They’re excited about cooking tonight.   
  
 **Hubby 4:34pm**  
I’m afraid of what will happen   
without you…  
  
 **Kurt 4:41pm**  
Oh, I forgot it’s their night…wait  
  
 **Hubby 4:43pm**  
If you need to stay, you need to stay.   
New line, new show. We understand.   
We’ll miss you.   
  
 **Kurt 4:47pm**  
Miss you too.

He hated to miss dinner, but it wasn’t for the show—it was for something even more important: his family. He had to do this. Tonight.

*******

Kurt sat in the restaurant fidgeting at his table. He preferred booths, but he needed to ensure Brimley would keep a respectful distance—Kurt on one side of the table, Brimley on the other. All to soon, Brimley sauntered up to the table and took a seat opposite Kurt. Brimley grabbed the drink menu.

“What’s your poison tonight?”

“I won’t be drinking and neither will you.”

“Why so professional? I thought we were going to get… _personal_.” Brimley let the last word roll off his tongue suggestively.

“Oh, trust me.” Kurt said, seriously. “This is personal.”

“You’re a tough cookie to crack, Kurt.”

Kurt leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and laced his fingers together. “That’s because I never intend to let you get near this fortune.”

Brimley sat back and crossed his arms and legs. “Playing hard to get again, I see. I like it.”

“No, Brimley. I let this go on for far too long and it ends right now. I don’t want you. I never did. I love my husband.”

“Yeah, you were certainly loving him in my apartment last night and in your office today.”

“Last night was my mistake, and today was yours.” Kurt fired back. “And neither of us will be making anymore mistakes. It ends right now.”

“What if I don’t want it to? What if I was just starting to have fun?”

“Brimley,” Kurt took a breath and decided to take the next step. “We will have a strictly professional relationship or we won’t have one at all.”

“Now, tell me why I’m having a _hard_ time believing that, Kurt.”  Kurt felt something on his ankle. When he realized it was Brimley’s foot, he nearly fell backward in the chair in his haste to stand up. He recovered quickly, snatched his coat from the back of his chair and commenced a storm out of which even Rachel Berry would have been proud.

“Kurt!” Brimley stood and grabbed Kurt’s passing wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I’m late for dinner.” Kurt spat, snatching his hand away.

“We’re _at_ dinner, Kurt!” Brimley, suddenly aware of their surroundings, lowered his voice to a whisper. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”

“No. _You_ are alone. And _I_ am late for dinner. With. My. Family.” Kurt turned and left and, for once, Brimley didn’t chase.

 

**Friday, March 21, 2031**

 

Thankfully, the fashion show had gone off without a hitch and Kurt had not so much as had to talk to Brimley. Now, if he could only make it through the after party without a scene. He had texted Tiffany and given her the go ahead on his way home from his failed “dinner” with Brimley. Kurt thought Brimley might retaliate, he just didn’t know how, but he knew he couldn’t let it involve his family. So, even though all he wanted to do was hug tight to Blaine and hold his children, he stayed far away from them so as not to tempt Brimley.

Finally, after hours of press, hugs, and handshakes, the crowd was dwindling. _Soon_ , Kurt thought, _soon I’ll be back home with my family and this will be over_. He chanced a glance over to where he knew Blaine was waiting. That moment was all Brimley needed.

“You’re firing me?” Brimley was somehow inches away from Kurt, directly in his face, begging for a confrontation. Kurt steeled himself. When he spoke, his voice was calm and conversational.

“I told you we would have a professional relationship or we wouldn’t have one at all.” Kurt breathed, trying and failing to not let his discomfort show on his face.

“In an email, Kurt? You have your secretary send me an email with a link to an advertisement for my job? You call that professional?”

“If I recall correctly, at our recent dinner it was _you_ who decided we couldn’t have a professional relationship. I simply acted in kind.”

“Well, how about I act in kind? Is that Blaine over there?” At Brimley’s words, Kurt tensed and darted his eyes to where Blaine was standing, thankfully locked in conversation with Tiffany. “ _Oh_ , and the kids too?” Brimley continued, the threat clear in his voice. “I’m sure they’d love to hear about just how _professional_ you’ve been with me.”

Brimley leaned back from Kurt as if to make his move toward Blaine. Kurt had to play the last card he had left.

“If you want a recommendation you’ll do no such thing,” Kurt rushed, all the words coming on one breath.

“What?” Brimley’s eyes went wide. Finally, it seemed Kurt had caught and passed Brimley for once.

“You heard me, Brimley.” It was Kurt who moved forward this time, closing the space between them to a whisper. “If you ever want to work in this industry again, you’ll fulfill your final duties as Product Development Manager, you will pack your things, and you will go. Quietly.”

They stood in the silence, Brimley fuming and Kurt doing his best to withstand the heat.

Suddenly, Brimley gripped Kurt’s arm and tugged Kurt forward so that Brimley’s lips were at Kurt’s ear. “You can get rid of me, but you won’t escape the consequences, Kurt. Look at him standing over there.” Brimley strengthened his grip and shook Kurt’s arm. “Such a _dutiful_ husband and father to your kids. He’s never loved or wanted anyone else but you, and how do you repay him? When you were in my house, letting me feel you up,” Brimley kissed Kurt’s ear. “You said he didn’t deserve this. But you were wrong. You don’t deserve him. I just hope I’m around when he figures it out.”

Kurt turned out of Brimley’s grip and stormed off, hopefully appearing more strong and righteous than he felt. Kurt no longer cared about making a scene. He had to leave.

Blaine caught Kurt’s arm. “Kurt?”   
  
Kurt did not stop. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. Are you ready?”  
  
“Yes, umm, is everything okay?” Blaine asked.   
  
“Everything’s fine.”  
  
“Are you sure? That guy—“  
  
“He’s nobody.” 

Kurt tried his best to put on a smile and cheery attitude for the kids, but he knew he was failing…as a father, as a husband.

Blaine turned to go retrieve their coats and Kurt called into the distance. “Blaine? Thank you…for waiting.”

Blaine gave him a sidelong glance and a sad sort of smile. “Of course.”

Kurt had to tell him. Brimley was right, Blaine didn’t deserve this and Kurt didn’t deserve Blaine. The least Kurt could do was muster the courage to tell Blaine the truth and let him decide for himself if he wanted to continue to live less than the life he deserved on less than the love he had earned because Kurt was less than the husband he’d promised.

 

***

**Wednesday, March 26, 2031**

 

Kurt had finally gotten out of bed and come to work. However, and somewhat predictably, he’d only managed to sit at his desk with his back to the door and stare out of his windows at the New York skyline wondering where Blaine was and if he was ever coming back. Tiffany came in to bring him lunch and water, but other than that, he wanted to be left alone.

He heard his door open and footsteps signal someone’s entrance.

“Tiffany, please,” Kurt whispered, his voice hoarse with grief.

“It’s not Tiffany, it’s me.”

That voice made Kurt want to vomit. Kurt didn’t turn to face him. “Leave, Brimley.”

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at the after party.”

“Leave.”

“It’s just, I’ve had some time to think and you were right and I was wrong and if you’re still willing to give me a recommendation—“

“Get out. _Please_.” Kurt’s last word was more of a beg than he wanted to admit.  Thankfully, he heard retreating footsteps.

“Uh, Kurt…I-I’m sorry about Blai—“

“No you aren’t!” Kurt cut in, not wanting to hear Blaine’s name in Brimley’s voice. 

“I know you can’t believe me right now, but I _am_ sorry and if I can help in any—“

“You’ve done enough.” Kurt couldn’t hide the defeat in his voice. “Please, Brimley, just finish up your paperwork and go.”

He did.

 

**Saturday, March 29, 2031**

 

Kurt had told Blaine the details of his indiscretions. Kurt just hoped Blaine would stick around long enough to let him redeem himself, prove himself worthy.

“Is that all?”

“No.” Here was Kurt’s chance. He took a breath. “I invited him to drinks that night to--”   
  
“Wait. Wednesday night?”  
  
“Yes, but--” _I told him it was over_ , Kurt wanted to finish. 

“Let me get this straight.” Blaine took a shuddering breath. “You carried on a…a relationship, with another man for months. That man tried to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him. So you took him to drinks instead of spending the night with your husband and eating the dinner your children made?”   
  
Kurt looked into Blaine’s tearful eyes and searched for a way to ease his pain. “Yes, Blaine. But I needed to know…” _that Brimley would leave us alone._

“Know what, Kurt? What’s there to know except that I love you? That was always enough for me. Why am I never enough for you?”  
  
“It’s not about whether you’re enough,” Kurt pleaded.  
  
“Then what is it Kurt? Please tell me so that I can know. So that the next time you leave, I can understand why.”

Why was Blaine so good at pushing Kurt’s buttons? Why was Kurt so bad at admitting when the button pressed was the truth?

“I didn’t leave Blaine. You did!”  
  
“I left because you left!”  
  
“I left because I wanted you to chase me, but you didn’t even notice I was gone!”  
  
“Well, Kurt, forgive me if I was too busy raising our kids to worry about you  
fulfilling your cat and mouse fantasies.”  
  
“Why don’t you ever fight for me, Blaine? Pursue me?”  
  
“Why do you run?” Blaine nearly yelled. There it was—the question that had been hanging in the air for years, finally spoken aloud. 

Watching Blaine leave the coffee shop that day, Kurt finally knew the answer. Could he find the courage to reveal it?

 

***

 

In the aftermath of the disastrous coffee shop conversation, Kurt lay on Blaine’s side of the bed, crying and trying to gather the courage to fix it. Suddenly, his phone was ringing. It had to be Blaine; he was finally calling. Kurt frantically grabbed the phone, jamming the phone to his ear and choking out, “Blaine? Oh God, I’m so glad you ca—“

“Kurt?”  

“Bri-Brimley?”

“Hello, Mr. Anderson-Hummel. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt tried for an air of superiority. “Please, just get to the point, Brimley. I’m in the middle of something.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Brimley remarked. “Anyway, in order to bring a close to our professional relationship, I need to compile and submit the final numbers to the manufacturer so the Legend Line can be produced to full capacity.”

“Okay?” Kurt said, confused. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you had the papers last, if I’m not mistaken. You took them home to look over them.”

“Sorry, you’re right,” Kurt said, remembering. “I do have them. I’ll bring them into the office on Monday. Goodb—“

“Actually, Kurt,” Brimley interrupted. “I was hoping to get them this weekend. It’s fairly time sensitive, as you know.”

“Fine,” Kurt gave in. “I’ll drop them off at the office and you can pick them up.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I can just come get them from you, maybe tomorrow?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Kurt rushed. “Plus, tomorrow is bad. Blaine’s coming by to get the kids in the morning and I’ll be busy all day. It’s already a stretch for me to get the papers to the office.”

“It would only take a second,” Brimley pressed.

“No, Brimley. Either I can bring them into the office tomorrow, or you can wait until Monday.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Fine. I should be able to make it into the City around noon. I’ll drop them off then. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Brimley.”

“Goodbye.”

 

**Sunday, March 30, 2031**

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kurt demanded.

“I came to get the papers, Kurt,” Brimley said, calmly stepping, uninvited, over the threshold. “I had to leave the City anyway to see a friend, so I figured I’d stop by and save you the trip.” Brimley was actually grinning.

“You’re a liar. I know exactly why you’re here,” Kurt spat. “How could I have been so stupid?” It all suddenly clicked together: Brimley’s words at the after party, his faux concern days later, his phone call the night previous. “You know Blaine is coming and you decided you’d just drop in, didn’t you?”

“Oh, is he coming?” Brimley feigned ignorance. “I take it he’s not here yet. Pity…”

“Good God, Brimley. I’d heard things and I had suspicions, but this is too much. I’m onto you.”

“Onto me?” Brimley chuckled, “Really, Kurt?” Brimley sauntered into Kurt’s physical space.

“Back up, Brimley. Don’t you dare move,” Kurt ordered, his extended index finger inches from Brimley’s chest. “You’re going to stand right here while I go get the papers. Then, you’re going to get the hell out of my house and my life. Do you understand?”

He couldn’t have been gone for more than four minutes. Four minutes was all it took for his plans to rebuild the rubble of his life to collapse into ash. Kurt had let Blaine walk into their home and find another man with their children. It didn’t matter that Kurt had planned to talk to Blaine, to fix things. It didn’t matter that Brimley had engineered this, apparently one step ahead of Kurt the entire time, not only manipulating Kurt, but also Tori. All that mattered was that Kurt had allowed this, caused this, with his thoughtlessness.

Kurt had driven Blaine away and made him believe Kurt didn’t love him.

 

***

**Saturday, June 7, 2031**

 

Mercedes and Rachel had finally left and Kurt was sitting alone among the debris. His frantic search for the divorce papers had destroyed the tiny office. Kurt was trying to clean the room, but in actuality was just shuffling papers and knick-knacks aimlessly across the floor, like a child rearranging their vegetables on the plate to avoid truly eating them. 

Kurt took a deep shuddering breath and felt a calm come over him as the familiar scent of magnolia surrounded him. His eyes fell instinctively on the top drawer of the old oak dresser in the corner, its top-drawer carelessly thrown open in his rampage. He crawled toward his mother’s scent, and leaned on the dresser for support as he pulled himself up to standing. Kurt made to close the drawer but something caught his eye—a yellowing folded scrap of paper, forgotten in the back of the drawer.  His fingers were gentle as he worked the paper’s folds, bending it open. Kurt could barely hear his inner voice reading the words over his quickened heartbeat. Somehow, in Kurt’s soul, he knew the words echoing in his mind held the answer—these words were he and Blaine’s roadmap back home, back to each other. He clutched the tiny paper to his chest, rested his head on the top of the dresser, and breathed into the top drawer. “Thank you, Mom. I love him too.”

 

***

**Saturday, June 14, 2031**

 

“Papa,” Tori gently shook Kurt’s arm, “are you ready?”

The plane had finally landed in Ohio and it was mostly empty except for a few other parents and their children.

“Yes, sweetie.”

Tori hopped out of her seat and bounced in the aisle, restless after sitting the entire flight.

“Hold your brother for a second while I grab our bags.” Kurt handed Bertie and his bag to Tori and retrieved her tiny purple suitcase and his larger carry on (they’d checked Bertie’s stroller at the gate).

“What about that other bag, Papa?” Tori asked, pointing to a messenger back still in the overhead compartment. “Is that ours too?”

“Yes, sweetie.” Kurt gingerly grabbed the bag and looped it over his shoulder, patting it gently where he knew it held the papers that would make or break their little family. “Yes, it is.”  


	16. Fearless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!!! The END! Thanks for sticking with me and the boys.

**Sunday, June 15, 2031**

 

Blaine was lounging on the couch in the apartment, resting his still sore muscles from his night in the tree house and wasting time until Cooper was scheduled to arrive. He stared unseeing at the flat screen scanning through channels, his mind a jumble of words and images:  Kurt in bed with the phone to his ear, “I loved the blazer…I still do,” Tori’s purple jacket atop the luggage, “I can’t survive on pieces of you,” Kurt whispering the three words Blaine most needed to hear to a dimming phone.

A Skype notification popped up in the corner of the TV screen and drew Blaine’s attention. As he sat up, he chuckled at the memory of “virtual cuddles” in his youth and marveled at what a couple of decades could do for technological advancement. Blaine tapped the remote to accept the video chat. The green light at the top center of the TV flashed on and his family appeared on the screen, Kurt with Bertie in his lap, Tori at his side, and Carole standing behind them where they sat on the couch.

“Happy Father’s Day!” They all chorused.

Blaine’s grin was so wide he was squinting. “Aww, thank you! And same to you, Kurt!”

“Thank you!” Kurt smiled. “We all wanted to say hello to the best father we know.” He grabbed Bertie’s chubby fist and waved it at the screen. “Say hello to Daddy.”

“Heddo Daddy!” Bertie called, reaching out for the screen.

“Hi, Daddy! Are you having a Happy Father’s Day? We miss you!” Tori rushed, excitedly.

“I miss you too, Sweetie.” Blaine held his hand to his heart. “I _am_ having a good day, especially now. I’m just waiting on your Uncle Coop to come over. Actually, I was just thinking about all of you. How was the flight?”

Tori started prattling on about the flight, peanuts, and Bertie’s gassiness, but Blaine didn’t hear…he was studying Kurt’s face. Kurt, who wasn’t looking at Tori either, but whose eyes were locked on the screen—focused on Blaine. Tori giggled adorably and Blaine finally refocused his attention. Tori was now holding Bertie, bouncing him on her knee as the he shouted, “I lub you, Daddy!”

“Me too!” Tori called. “I love you too, Daddy!”

“I love you both, with all of my heart.”

“Alright, you two, why don’t you play with Grandma while your Daddy and I talk?” Kurt turned to Carole who nodded her head and reached out to grab Bertie from Tori.

“Come on you two, let’s go get a snack!”

Tori and Bertie began a chant of “Snack, snack, snack!” and disappeared from the screen.

Blaine watched as Kurt picked up his tablet from the coffee table, tapped it, and Blaine’s screen switched from a view of Carole’s living room to just Kurt’s face, still gorgeous even at the wonky angle he was getting due to how Kurt was holding his tablet.

Blaine grabbed his tablet and followed suit. “Hey stranger,” Blaine smiled at the screen.

“Hey, yourself,” Kurt snarked with a grin. Then, seriously, “Are you _really_ having a good day? I feel horrible about you not being with the kids today.”

Blaine, emboldened by the events of the previous night, stepped out on a limb. “I am. It’s always a good day when I see the kids…and you.”

Kurt’s mouth fell open adorably. “You…you mean that?”

“Of course.” Blaine answered, sincerely.

Blaine could see Kurt sit down on the bed in his old bedroom.  

“Well, you could come here?” Kurt gave a cautious smile. “I know Carole would love to see you…and…and the Dalton event next weekend. You could see the kids, and some of the Warbler guys…and…and me.” The last word was small and light on Kurt’s voice, his eyes averted from the screen.

“I’ll come to the event.” Blaine smiled. “It sounds nice.”

“Re-really? I mean don’t come if you don’t want to or because you feel some sort of obligation I mean—“

“Kurt.” Blaine cut in. “I _want_ to come.”

“Oh…okay. Good.” Kurt’s eyes again found Blaine’s.

“Good.”

“Then…I’ll see you next weekend?”

“You’ll see me next weekend.” Blaine echoed.  

Kurt, apparently not wanting to press his good fortune, had made some excuse to go, so they said their goodbyes and the screen of Blaine’s tablet went black, but somehow he knew Kurt was whispering the same three words at the screen as he was.  

 

***

Cooper let himself in and found Blaine in the process of purchasing plane tickets.

“Why ya’ goin’ to Ohio, Squirt?” Cooper clapped Blaine on the back. “Going to visit Dad after all?”

“No, I’m going to see Kurt. And don’t call me Squirt.” Blaine shot Cooper a look.

“Oh, awesome!” Cooper exclaimed. “So you and the hubby are back on?”

“…not…yet.” Blaine parsed.

Cooper jumped over the back of the couch and landed, seated, beside Blaine and gave him an inquisitive look. “’Yet?’ What does that mean?”

“It means not yet, Cooper.” Blaine answered, flustered.

“But if you aren’t back together, then why spend $800 to go see him? Plus, isn’t he the one that was like… _involved_ , or whatever with some guy? Shouldn’t he be coming to see you?”

Blaine sighed heavily and dropped his head. They sat like that for a few moments, Blaine’s eyes closed and head angled toward the floor. Cooper was looking at Blaine expectantly. Blaine finally lifted his head and labored over each word as if he was still wading through the murky waters of unformed thought. “I…I saw something and…I know he still loves me, he’s just…I don’t know…I mean, I walked out…I didn’t answer his calls for nearly a month—“

“But you said yourself that when you did answer he never wanted to talk about the real issues.” Cooper countered.

“It’s more than that, Coop.  I think the phone calls were more than that…I mean…I sent him divorce papers and…he said to me once…the last time…” Blaine fell silent for a moment. “I think he’s trying to hold on to what he can the only way he knows how…and I, I just need to be there when he finally reaches out for more.” _When not if_ , Blaine thought to himself.

“Well, little brother. That sounds pretty complicated so I’ll just leave all of that to you. He’s _your_ husband.”

“Yes, yes he is.”

 

**Saturday, June 21, 2031**

 

It had been great to don the blazer again and see all of the guys. There was nothing like a Warbler reunion. This one being the 200th made it extra special. The halls of Dalton were filled with generations upon generations of Warblers from white-haired men with the buttons of their blazers straining against their potbellies to young boys who were clearly experiencing their first year of proverbial rock stardom.  During the cocktail hour, Blaine had thoroughly enjoyed catching up with Wes and David and hearing of their joint adventures on the board of a California corporation. Wes positively glowed as he described the gavel he got to use as chairperson of the board. During the dinner and program, Trent was affable as always, chatting animatedly about his legal career, entertaining their entire table with tales from his courtroom. After the program, Blaine ran into Nick and Jeff, both of whom had recently retired from stage performance and were taking up choir directing at different academic levels. Blaine suspected they would enjoy choosing who got the solos from now on.

Whenever anyone asked where Kurt was, Blaine responded the only way he could: “He should be around here somewhere. Have you seen him?” The answer was always no, followed by a pat on the back he was sure was meant to be comforting. The crowd was really dwindling and Blaine was running out of ways to justify sticking around. Of course he’d always planned to come to this event, but when he and Kurt had separated he’d decided he rather not attend, but then Kurt had seemed so adamant about it…had seemed to want him there…but Blaine was there and Kurt wasn’t. Blaine had misread. Kurt wasn’t coming.

Blaine straightened his blazer, waved goodbye to the last cluster of Warblers drunkenly harmonizing in a corner, and made for the exit, but not before taking one last shortcut.

The railing was cold and firm as Blaine descended the staircase, the tap of his shoe on each step echoing in the curve of the ornate dome looming above him. The slope and shape of that staircase were indelibly imprinted on his mind and inextricably linked to his heart. He could not number the times he and Kurt had traversed these worn steps hand in hand or shared a kiss at its feet. That staircase had led him to his love, had introduced his heart to the reason it beat. Nineteen days ago, Blaine had set an expiration date to that love and his heart that only Kurt, the recipient and owner of the two, could cancel. It seemed fitting then, that Blaine would spend the eve of the end at the beginning.

As Blaine neared the final step, he noticed something out of place. A yellowing scrap of paper sat in the center of the last step. Blaine stopped above the final step and stooped to grab the discarded scrap, intent on dropping it in the nearest trash receptacle on his way out and back into the cold. The feel of the paper in his hand stirred his memory and riveted him to the spot. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the paper and read the time-faded words his heart had guided his hand to write so many years ago.

“You planned to ask right here…to marry me.”

Blaine turned on the stair to see Kurt walking down the staircase toward him, still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Before Blaine could speak, his brain finally registered the manila envelope held tight in Kurt’s hand. Had Kurt signed the papers? Was it really over?

“But sales at the boutique had been low,” Kurt continued, “and we’d just used our extra money to cover our rent and we couldn’t afford the trip here that Mother’s Day…”

Blaine nodded.

“You felt like that about me once…” Kurt nodded toward the paper still clutched in Blaine’s hand and the corners of Kurt’s mouth inched downward, as if he was resigning himself to a hard truth. “…like we were soul mates…from the first time you took my hand.” Kurt inhaled noticeably and took another step toward Blaine.  “I-I let go of your hand, and I’m sorry. But I never left you. My heart never left. My soul never left. I just…I let my body and my mind get in the way.” Kurt desperately declared. Then, he clinched his eyes shut, swallowed, and with great effort, said, “You asked me in that coffee shop why I always run. I run for the reason anybody runs…I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” Blaine whispered, gaining his voice.

Kurt dropped his head. “Scared that I’d missed something. That by finding you so early in this lifetime, that I’d missed being pursued or wanted. “ He looked up. “But I was so happy to have found you that I ignored it, told myself I was being silly. But then…over the years I started telling myself that I hadn’t missed anything because there wasn’t anything for me to miss—apparently, no one else even wanted me. Then, I was scared for an entirely new reason…scared that you would realize that you didn’t want me either…that I wasn’t worthy of you.” Kurt fidgeted with the envelope in his hands. “For a long time I thought it was _your_ job to make me feel worthy—compliment me a certain way, look at me a certain way, kiss me a certain way.” Kurt took two more steps toward Blaine. “But you did all that and I still didn’t feel worthy. Then I thought maybe…maybe _he_ could make me feel worthy. If someone else wanted me, even if I didn’t want them, that would prove I was desirable…prove that you weren’t some special kind of crazy that you would snap out of and realize that you didn’t want me. But I’ve realized that no one else can make me feel worthy. I have to do that for myself. I have to be enough for me before I can believe I’m enough for you.”  Kurt took one more step forward, leaving only one remaining step separating he and Blaine.

“Blaine, you have always loved me so fearlessly. I just want to be worthy of your courage.  So…” Kurt’s voice trembled. “I’m trying for a little courage of my own.”

Kurt glanced at the envelope in his hands, then at the paper held in Blaine’s, then locked eyes with Blaine. “I don’t know if the words on that paper are still true for you, but I know that nothing else feels like the way you look at me. I know I can only face forever with your hand in mine. I know there are still parts of you I have yet to remember. And most importantly, I know that I didn’t miss anything: I found everything…when I found you.”

Kurt straightened himself to his full height, his chin pressed forward in that practiced superior way, but he still held Blaine’s gaze, and tears fell from his own eyes as he confessed, “I know that I am flawed, that I’ve made mistakes…I _will_ make more mistakes. But I know that in every lifetime I have ever lived, I have only wanted to make mistakes with you, Blaine. Only you.”

Kurt’s hands shook as he slowly opened the manila folder and pulled out the papers. Blaine’s eyes went wide with recognition. Kurt wasn’t holding divorce papers: in his hand was their marriage license and the list of promises they’d made so many years ago and kept safe in an ornate box next to their bed.

Kurt clung to the papers like a lifeline as he spoke. “You chose me once. And we made promises…promises I intend to keep.” Kurt reached out and grabbed the hand in which Blaine held the yellowed scrap of paper, squeezing the would-be proposal between both their hands as he made a new proposal of his own. “If you still want to…choose to come back, in _this_ lifetime, and spend it loving me.”

“Kurt.” Blaine took the final step, closing the distance between he and Kurt. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

Kurt fell into Blaine, his arms locking into place across Blaine’s shoulders and Blaine’s arms going snug around Kurt’s waist, their lips meeting with the passion and depth shared only by the timeless souls of two eternal lovers reuniting in yet another life. They clicked right back into place, the force of it hitting them in their shared core, as if, in that moment, the Earth shifted, realigning with a reality that was true across all space and time: Kurt and Blaine were meant to hold each other. Both of them fearless. Forever.

 

***

The rest of the night was a delightful mixture of past, present, and future. Blaine took Kurt’s hand and they returned to the room where they shared their first conversation, coffee, and kiss and indulged in more of all three.

Kurt apologized for abusing Blaine’s trust.

Blaine apologized for refusing to listen, having been too afraid of what he might hear. 

Kurt apologized for not trying hard enough to explain, having been too afraid of what he might lose.

Kurt had to drag Blaine back to his seat after explaining how Brimley had manipulated his way into their house and used their daughter as a pawn. “Honey, he’s not worth the jail time.”

Blaine promised to send Tiffany a bouquet of flowers and talked Kurt out of sending Mike a gift basket of Bertie’s messiest diapers. “He was just trying to help me.”

They laughed until they cried and cried until they laughed, until a night janitor came by and told them they had to leave.

Back at Carole’s house, snuggled in Kurt’s old bed, they clung to each other, Kurt’s head on Blaine’s chest and Blaine’s chin nuzzled into Kurt’s hair.

“You know…” Kurt whispered, his breath tickling Blaine’s chest. “I only have one regret.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Blaine said, stroking Kurt’s back.

“Not getting to hear you propose to me at the spot where we first met.”

“Mmm,” Blaine intoned, running his hand up Kurt’s back and into his hair. ”It may not be the place where we decided to get married, but I do love that it’s the place where I heard you tell me why we should _stay_ married.” Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt’s forehead, then chuckled. “It _was_ a really good proposal wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, you got to propose this time. It seems only fair that I do the honors next time.”

Kurt closed his eyes, his soul fluttering with memories and the promise of infinite futures with Blaine. Kurt smiled into Blaine’s chests. “Yeah. Next time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Epilogue: All of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every angsty story needs a super sappy epilogue. Here's mine :) The song featured here is my new theme for Klaine. If you don't think it's perfect for them, you are wrong.

**Friday, October 10, 2031**

 

Blaine tapped his knife against his champagne glass, bringing the vast and boisterous room to a whisper. He and Kurt were seated at the center of the table at the front of the ballroom. Blaine stood up, cleared his throat, and with Kurt’s hand still in his at his side, he addressed the crowd. 

“Kurt and I just want to thank all of you for helping us celebrate our 10th Anniversary by witnessing the renewing of our vows.” A cheer went up from the crowd. Mike’s voice was especially loud, Tina hugged around his waist looking up at him fondly. “Especially to those of you who spent many months of this last year making sure we made it to this day.” Blaine’s eyes found Rachel, Mercedes and Tiffany in the crowd. They shared significant looks before Blaine addressed the crowd again. “To many of you, it must seem as though Kurt and I have had a charmed existence—You can stop making gagging noises Coop and Sam!” The crowd rippled with laughter. After a moment, Blaine continued. “In many ways, it truly has been charmed, sometimes like the stuff of dreams. But we have endured our fair share of struggles.” Blaine looked down at Kurt by his side. “And while some of the details of sharing a life have often been hard, loving you always came easy.”  Blaine paused to compose himself and looked back out at the crowd of friends and family gathered to celebrate their love.  “During one of our…little interruptions, Kurt once said to me—and I hope he doesn’t mind me sharing—“ Blaine glanced at Kurt who gave him a smile and a nod. “He said to me, ‘I can’t survive on pieces of you.’ And I-I thought that now would be the best time to ensure him that he will never have to.” 

Blaine lifted Kurt’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, pulling Kurt from his seat and toward the piano in the center of the room. “I knew this piano was too conspicuously placed!” Kurt’s voice was tearfully joyful as he joked with the crowd, seated at their tables that circled the piano.   Blaine sat down on the piano bench and gave the spot next to him a tap. Kurt sat and gazed lovingly at Blaine who began fiddling with the keys, teasing the crowd with a few playful notes. 

“Sadly, I didn’t write this song,” Blaine joked, receiving a few “awwws” for his trouble. “But it feels like I did, because it’s exactly how I feel about my husband, Kurt Hummel.” Blaine turned to Kurt. “He’ll always have all of me.”

Kurt smiled through his tears and [Blaine began to sing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7IUYZV4ijt8).

_What would I do without your smart mouth_

_Drawing me in, and you kicking me out_ _  
_

_Got my head spinning, no kidding, I can’t pin you down  
_

_What’s going on in that beautiful mind_

_I’m on your magical mystery ride_

_And I’m so dizzy, don’t know what hit me, but I’ll be alright_

_My head’s under water_

_But I’m breathing fine_

_You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind_

 

Blaine grinned at Kurt, a tear slipping down his cheek.

 

_Cause all of me_

_Loves all of you_

_Love your curves and all your edges_

_All your perfect imperfections_

_Give your all to me_

_I’ll give my all to you_

_You’re my end and my beginning_

_Even when I lose I’m winning_

_Cause I give you all of me_

_And you give me all of you_

 

Kurt’s eyes never left Blaine, his hand clutched over his heart as he swayed with the rhythm.

 

_How many times do I have to tell you?_

_Even when you’re crying you’re beautiful too_

 

Blaine wiped a tear from Kurt’s cheek

 

_The world is beating you down, I’m around through every move_

_You’re my downfall, you’re my muse_

_My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues_

_I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing in my head for you_

 

Kurt dropped his head to Blaine’s shoulder.

 

_My head’s under water_

_But I’m breathing fine_

_You’re crazy and I’m out of my_

 

_Cause all of me_

_Loves all of you_

_Love your curves and all your edges_

_All your perfect imperfections_

_Give your all to me_

_I’ll give my all to you_

_You’re my end and my beginning_

_Even when I lose I’m winning_

_Cause I give you all of me_

_And you give me all of you_

_Cards on the table, we’re both showing hearts_

_Risking it all, though it’s hard_

Tears broke Blaine’s voice and while his fingers still played, he rested his cheek on Kurt’s head where it lay on his shoulder, whispering only for Kurt to hear. “I give you all of me.” Kurt tucked his head into the warm space at the base of Blaine’s neck and breathed in all of him swearing he would never exhale. They hummed together in harmony to the melody, knowing that them, the music would never stop. 


End file.
